


Publicity Stunt

by GingerbreadBaby



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Animal Death, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cults, Death, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Fanaticism, Sex Tapes, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 33,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24025594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerbreadBaby/pseuds/GingerbreadBaby
Summary: Tyreen looked... reserved, glancing over to Mouthpiece with hesitance clear in her expression."What?" Troy demanded, already annoyed by the secrecy and theatrics. "What's the 'emergency' that I needed to bust my ass to come deal with?"Another look exchanged. "An ECHOnet recording leaked online," Tyreen began cautiously, "it's... not great for you-- for us." She crossed her arms, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "We tried to shut it down-- but it was already circulating the forums, and... there's nothing we can do about it now."Troy's dark brows bunched together in the center, perplexed. "What could be so bad? We record everything anyways," he edged closer to Mouthpiece's monitor, seeing the audio file in the center of the desktop. "Play it," he urged, his tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and worry.Tyreen was quick to intervene. "Troy-- its you and Aurelia."
Relationships: Troy Calypso/Aurelia Hammerlock, Troy Calypso/Reader
Comments: 66
Kudos: 132





	1. Pandoran Nights

**Author's Note:**

> With my love for this ratboy-- it was only a matter of time before I tried my hand at writing him a romance. I hope you enjoy <3 Comments and kudos are encouraged, as always!

It was a lie to say that this didn't feel good.

Troy surveyed the cathedral, still in the beginning stages of construction, bandits erecting massive effigies and altars in his honor-- _all_ willing to lay down their lives to make his the slightest bit more comfortable. He felt their eyes on him as he passed, watched them drop to their knees in prayer to his name, heard them wailing for his salvation... and he ignored them. He had bigger fish to fry. This week's sacrifice was still being prepared, vehicle repairs still in process, recruitment drives whirring on without his attention. He didn't have to lift a finger-- they flocked to him like sheep. 

But today, his goal was simple. A new propaganda clip to be distributed on the ECHOnet, to push back against the Crimson Raiders on Eden 6-- and they need compelling footage. With the Vault Thieves thousands of miles away-- he was out of easy material. He needed something attractive, attention-grabbing, and the bandits just weren't cutting it. The cathedral was still framed by scaffolding, their war machines were scratched and dented, and Tyreen had chosen _today_ of all days to decide she needed some alone time. 

The very thought brought contempt. 

As if on cue, his ECHO beeped with an incoming transmission-- his sister's name flashing across the screen in atrotious neon letters. Tapping the screen, he tucked the device back into his belt. "Go for Troy, God-King," he answered sweetly, knowing the name irked her. 

But instead of a snarl and accompanying insult, there was a pause. "Where are you?"

Something in her tone nagged at him, but he shrugged it off. "Outside. The Cathedral's looking great-- but its absolute _shit_ on camera, we might need to send out the b-roll of the last raid again--"

She interrupted him. "Come back inside, we have a situation." Then, as an added note. " _Quickly."_

God, he _hated_ when she used that voice. That sharp, biting, business-like voice that almost _always_ meant that something had stalled. First it was Katagawa, and then those faulty Hyperion engines-- it was _always_ a pain in the ass. Huffing, he summoned the hovering camera back to him with a wave of his hand, boots crunching in the arid dirt, and walking back towards their temporary dwelling, in what had formerly been a bandit fortress. They were nothing if not thrifty-- and once the bloodstains were scrubbed off the concrete-- it _really_ wasn't so bad. 

The followers inside seemed... different. A few had their ECHOs out, sending or receving little bubbles of text-- and when they glanced up to him-- it wasn't _fear_ in their eyes, it was _laughter._

Troy snapped at one, sending the rest scurrying to busy themselves out of his line of sight, but he could feel their eyes on his back. He approached Tyreen's door-- gaudily draped with an Eridium encrusted sign indicating her name and title, and knocked twice, before twisting the knob and ducking to fit under the doorframe. 

His sister was sitting atop her massive bed, a small white cat sleeping on her lap as she tenderly ran a finger down its side. She glanced up to him when he entered, but no greeting followed. 

Mouthpiece was seated in a small, ill-made chair, in front of a cheap computer, decorated with decals of flames up the sides, and small carvings of each of the Twins faces on the screen. It wasn't the most functional, but it was a nice touch. 

Troy closed the door behind him, looking to his sister expectantly. 

Tyreen looked... reserved, glancing over to Mouthpiece with hesitance clear in her expression.

"What?" Troy demanded, already annoyed by the secrecy and theatrics. "What's the 'emergency' that I needed to bust my ass to come deal with?"

Another look exchanged. "An ECHOnet recording leaked online," Tyreen began cautiously, "it's... not great for you-- for us." She crossed her arms, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "We tried to shut it down-- but it was already circulating the forums, and... there's nothing we can do about it now."

Troy's dark brows bunched together in the center, perplexed. "What could be so bad? We record everything anyways," he edged closer to Mouthpiece's monitor, seeing the audio file in the center of the desktop. "Play it," he urged, his tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and worry.

Tyreen was quick to intervene. " _Troy_ \-- its you and Aurelia."

He blanched, a trickle of recognition flooding into his eyes, but he kept his shoulders squared, his expression unwavering. "So? She was our ally-- it can't be _that_ bad. The Vault Thieves are already _on_ Eden 6, our part is over." He was inwardly glad to be off that _ass_ of a planet, and back to the dry heat of Pandora. 

Tyreen rolled her eyes, tired of broaching the issue as tenderly as she could. "It's your fucking _sex-tape,_ Troy. Your sex-tape got leaked online, and it went _viral."_ She snapped, looking over to Mouthpiece with the slightest tinge of disgust, unwilling to look at Troy with the traumatic images still in mind. "And it _is_ bad. _You're_ not supposed to be the sexy one-- _I_ am. You're _ruining_ our _brand!"_

His ECHO beeped again. _Aurelia._ Grimacing, he tapped decline. He didn't have time for her right now, and he didn't have the patience for this conversation. "So what?" he retorted, too indignant to care. "We broke up. It's over." _What a nightmare._ Dumping a _literal_ Ice Queen, and then turning around to see her at work the next day. "And its about time we shook things up-- people were starting to get bored."

"God-Queen, if I may--"

 _"No,"_ both snapped, hateful glares focused on the other. 

Tyreen shifted the cat off of her lap, standing and approaching her brother. "We _don't_ 'mix things up', _Troy,"_ she hissed, "not _now,_ not _ever._ We are _so_ close, and this could _ruin_ everything. So drop the blase attitude, and _get your head out of your ass!"_ She shoved him, _hard_ , eyes blazing with fury. _"Or did you forget what we're doing this for?"_ Her tattoos flooded with a sudden iridescent light, illuminating the interior of her room with a sickly glow. 

Troy swallowed, sticking out his chin with weak defiance, but resigning himself to her words. "What do we do now?" He asked, softly, feeling _smaller_ now. "What do _I_ do?" 

The tension left her posture in the space of a breath, confident that he'd heeded her (for the moment at least.) The glow faded back to matte, and she allowed her expression to soften. "We wait," she answered plainly, "Mouthpiece, pull up the subscription metric. We'll watch how this affects our pledges," she retreated to the plush bed, reclaiming her cat. "And _then_ you'll fix this." 


	2. Daydreams

You ended the recording with a huff, brushing the hair out of your eyes, still clinging to the thin sheen of sweat that had formed on your forehead. "How was that?" You asked, and surveying the damage of your meager recording space. 

Viv glanced up from her ECHO, bored and passive. "It was good," she answered casually, continuing to scroll. "A few hundred dollars in tips, a few new subscriptions," she shrugged, "an average night, by all accounts." The red-head had worked as your producer/manager/make-up artist since you got your start live-streaming a few months ago. She used to perform herself, but stopped when she married her husband last autumn. Since then, she'd been coaching you through the rocky first steps of building an online fanbase-- and as she called it ' _ the art of the tease.'  _

You called it a load of skag-shit. 

But it paid your bills, got you away from your parents, and kept the lights on, so it wasn't all bad. 

You collected the debris, carrying the toys into the small bathroom, and beginning the tedious process of cleaning them. You could hear the  _ clicks  _ of Viv's thumbs against her ECHO from the other room, and a curious  _ hm  _ that piqued your interest. "What?" You asked, glancing over your shoulder. "Did someone send a request?" Private shows made the most money, for obvious reasons, once a guy was turned on enough to pull out his wallet-- it was easy to crank the screws. 

Viv continued  _ clicking,  _ ignoring your question, shifting on the couch and squinting at the screen. 

The audio was shitty, but the words were easy to make out. 

_ Do that again-- the thing with the ice-- _

You rolled your eyes. "Whose show is it?" You asked, lathering the soap in your hands as you methodically worked through the pile. "Serena's? Josie's?" You thought for a moment.  _ "Lily's?" _

Viv muted the audio and glanced up,  _ finally.  _ "No, it's that Calypso freak," she informed, standing and collecting the sodden sheets where you'd conducted your show. "The video leaked this morning-- it's all over...  _ everywhere _ ."

You quirked a brow. "Tyreen?" You stifled a small laugh at the thought of the  _ all-mighty God Queen  _ getting  _ hacked _ . 

She shook her head, elaborating. "No, the boy one," she stepped into the tiny bathroom, holding up the screen for you to see. "And he's  _ hung. _ " 

You balked at her, before your curiosity got the better of you, sneaking a peek at the dim screen.  _ Not bad, Troy Calypso. Not bad.  _ The angle was... unflattering, to say the least, but it was clear that it was, in fact, Troy Calypso. You watched for a few seconds longer, before pushing the screen away and giving a dismissive:  _ "put the sheets in the washer," _ to Viv. It wasn't like this hadn't happened before-- celebrities nudes leaked all the time-- the difference was that the Calypso Twins were the biggest celebrities  _ ever _ . 

By this time, people on dozens of planets were downloading and sharing this same clip. The numbers steadily rising at the bottom of the screen brought a twinge of envy, but you brushed it off. By next week, this whole thing would blow over, and the Calypsos would be back to spewing their bull on every radio station across the galaxy. 

It made for an interesting headline, certainly. 

The video kept Viv’s interest for a little longer, before she too abandoned it, and moved on to the task of cleaning the studio. Your audience, however small, was demanding. You’d only done solo-shows thus far, as a result of your  _ slim choice _ of eligible bachelors on Pandora-- but you didn’t have the money to relocate. You invested nearly every dollar earned into toys, costumes, better lighting and film equipment-- and even the studio itself. 

Pulling a thread-bare robe over your shoulders, and fastening it around your waist, you continued with your post-show routine. Your own ECHO was balanced on the edge of the sink, watching reactions and comments roll in from your latest show. 

_ bad_buzzaxe: More tit! _

_ bad_buzzaxe: I’d love to shred that little bikini top and-- _

You looked away with a pull of nausea. They certainly weren’t the most  _ sophisticated  _ audience. But one comment drew your attention. 

_ fantastic_fanatic: Did you see the Troy Calypso leak? _

You turned off the sink, staring at the username-- and trying to place it. Shrugging, you dried off your hands, and lifted the small device. 

**_I saw it. Not bad for an amateur ;)_ **

You sent the message, before flicking on the tap and rinsing the toys, laying them out to dry as you let your mind wander. The ECHO buzzed once… and then again… coming alive as it nearly vibrated off the counter. Alarmed, you grabbed it, inspecting the chat for what caused the surge in activity. 

Comments poured in below, almost too fast to read. 

_ Vault_Thieves_Drool: Y/N should collab with Troy! Start his camming career! _

_ bloodthirsty_babe: UGH! I would kill to see Troy railing-- _

And they continued in that fashion, dozens and dozens of viewers clamoring, ranting, and raving. 

You hurried into the other room, finding Viv on the same ECHOnet page, her eyes wide with surprise. “What’s happening? Subscriptions are rolling in-- and I  _ know  _ that last show wasn’t your best work.” She read a few as they floated across the screen. “ _ Troy.  _ Troy Calypso? Why is  _ every  _ comment about Troy Calypso?” 

Your ECHO was shaking in your hands, the comments whizzing past at light-speed, subscriber count flooding through the roof. “I just said I thought the tape was  _ fine  _ and people started freaking out!” You defended, reading another comment about the  _ collaboration  _ between  _ you  _ and Troy. And suddenly, for a moment, everything  _ stopped.  _ Your stomach flooded with ice as you saw the final message in the stream. 

_ Tr0yCalyps0: call me ;) _


	3. Genesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3  
> Now the real fun begins!  
> Kudos and comments are encouraged!

The devotee count fluctuated, it always did after a broadcast, but Mouthpiece refreshed the page every few seconds regardless. Tyreen quickly lost interest, busying herself in the temple preparations remotely, micromanaging the bandits constructing the grand (and architecturally dubious) structure. Though Troy suspected (and her small grin confirmed) that the majority of her “orders” were merely to watch the cultists scramble to obey-- making even the most absurd changes as quickly as humanly possible. 

Troy watched the count, eyes focused on the slightest fluctuations. _Gained 3 followers. Lost one. Gained 20. Lost 13._ But after a few minutes of only minor changes, Troy let his attention drift-- scrolling mindlessly through the ECHOnet-- and for once-- avoiding any mention of his name. 

The screen buzzed with that atrocious _trill_ , and Troy winced. 

_Aurelia._ Again. 

He declined the call, lump rising in his throat. He _wasn’t_ ready for that conversation yet. She was _great_ … until she caught feelings. The sex became too needy, and she demanded _more and more_ of his time… calling him her _boyfriend_ and--

_And then they made a sex tape._

The phone buzzed again, and he rolled his eyes with an annoyed grunt. _Better to answer now than risk her taking the next shuttle to Pandora._ He clicked the accept button with a long sigh, holding the device to his ear. “Yeah?”

Tyreen looked up from her call with the bandits, with a nagging curiosity that he ignored. 

_“I’ve been calling for hours--”_

“I _know,”_ he clipped, “I’m kind of in the middle of something.” He glanced back to Mouthpiece’s screen. _Lost 5 more._ “I don’t have time for a long weepy ECHO call, Aurelia.” 

_There was a scoff from the other end. “Did you stop to think about how devastating this could be for my reputation? The public knowing about our little tryst? I already have a little herd of your worshippers picketing Jakobs Manor--”_

“You’ll be fine,” he butted in insistently, “I doubt anyone will care who _you_ are if _I’m_ in the video,” an _honest_ observation, spoken with a tone that made even _Mouthpiece_ wince. “It’ll blow over soon enough, and you’ll get your money.” He picked at a fraying strand of denim on his jeans. “Are we _good?”_

_“When this is over,” her voice was shaking with restrained anger, “I’ll take more than just your money.”_

The call ended with a sharp click, and a dial-tone. 

Troy lowered the ECHO from his ear, tossing it on the couch beside him, and leaning back in the uncomfortable chair. Everything in this room was Tyreen-sized, from the chairs to the bed. Cozy for Tyreen, but claustrophobic for Troy. The chair hugged his hips, and buckled under his weight. But despite his discomfort, he still found himself drifting to sleep. 

He remembered a yawn, and fighting his drooping eyelids, before finally giving in-- and slumping into a nap. He remembered watching the numbers. _15\. 3. 8…_ and then blackness. 

In what felt like a few minutes, Tyreen was shaking him awake. The silver spikes on her gloves dug into his skin, and drew a hiss of pain as he shook off the lingering dregs of sleep. “ _Wha--”_ he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, clearing the small strand of drool that had formed. “What?” He repeated, clearing his throat, and blinking the haze of drowsiness away. “You couldn’t let me sleep for a couple hours?” 

Mouthpiece had disappeared, replaced by a young priest with a COV pendant dangling over his distressed dark robes. The man was flipping between different ECHOnet pages, hunched over the keyboard as he sent out a flurry of messages, typing in commands with trained fingers. 

“Lionel!” She called over, ignoring the way the priest seemed to _melt_ at her use of his name. “Pull up the devotee count.” Turning back to her brother, she scowled onerously. “ _What did you do?”_

Troy, still dazed, looked over to the indicated screen-- and immediately rubbing his eyes to confirm he wasn’t seeing things. _The number had almost doubled overnight._ “That’s _impossible,”_ he breathed, pushing the priest away from the desk and stooping down to look at the screen more closely. It had taken _months_ to get them this far-- but _this_ was two to three _planets_ worth of subscribers. 

Tyreen tapped her foot impatiently behind him. “You didn’t hack the website?” She accused, refreshing the page on her ECHO to confirm what appeared on the screen. “You didn’t… do anything to it?”

Troy was stunned, sitting back on his heels and watching the number spin higher and _higher_ . “I didn’t do _anything,”_ he echoed softly, face illuminated in a soft blue glow. 

She blinked, pocketing the device, and swaying on her heels. “So… what do we do now? The people _love_ it. You’re a _sex symbol.”_

He scrunched his nose at the thought. “I don’t know,” he answered slowly, getting to his feet, and letting the priest get back to his work. “Aurelia’s _not_ an option, she’s a _psycho bitch,_ and she _hates_ me,” he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck in thought. “I can’t… release another one… _right? ”_

Tyreen agreed with a shallow nod. “It’ll look desperate,” she concluded, “and gimmicky.” She glanced over at the priest, who was ogling her in the reflection of the monitor. “You find anything, Lionel?”

He sat upright sharply, spinning in the chair to face his God-Queen, and bowed his head. “Nothing yet, my Queen,” he offered, hushed with shame at his failure, “but I will _not_ stop until I find something.” 

Troy made a face, looking to his sister with mild disgust. “What is he looking for?” 

Her lips smoothed into a thin line. “Mouthpiece brought him in-- said he was an ECHOnet wiz. He’s looking for any _trends_ , searching our forums for any indication of _why_ this blew up.” She averted her face, ignoring the way the crestfallen priest sadly climbed back into his chair and returned to his searching. 

Troy read some of the entries with vacant interest, lips twitching into a smile as a thread of _devotees_ discussed _just_ how much they’d be willing to do for a night with him. Some of the answers were… extreme and disturbing. Others were almost sweet. A few of the pages theorized if the leak was intentional or not, and others merely complimented him on his sexual prowess. It was flattering, to say the least. 

A message _pinged_ on the screen, and Lionel huffed, swiping it away with a click of his mouse. 

“What was that?” Troy demanded, laying his _heavy_ metal hand on the man’s shoulder-- if only to watch him shrink in his chair. “What did that message say?”

Lionel swallowed heavily. “I have a few other followers searching for answers, God-King. One of the more depraved ones has come back with findings from a--” he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed without endangering his life, “ _promiscuous_ ECHOnet site. It seems the video has circulated there too.” Seeing the confusion in his expression, he elaborated, uncomfortably. “It’s a--”

“It’s _porn_ , Troy,” Tyreen interjected, “you’re on a site for cam-girls.” With a smirk, she continued. “You have quite a few _fans_.” 

Troy’s extended limb grabbed for the ECHO in her hand, snatching it easily. “Lemme see!” He held it out of her reach as he scrolled through the videos, seeing a few of the _broadcasters_ dressed in Calypso costumes, and a few touching themselves to his video. His smile grew wider as he kept Ty at arm’s length, scrolling to the top of the results page. 

Tyreen was flushing red, batting at his metal arm in protest. “Troy! This is so not cool! Give it back, you _turd!”_

He laughed as he continued to scroll-- seeing _dozens_ of videos uploaded in the past few hours. 

When Tyreen finally managed to slip under his guard, she pushed him back-- reaching for the ECHO. 

Troy stumbled, tumbling to the floor in an awkward heap of limbs, dropping Tyreen’s plaything, and watching it skitter under the loveseat. 

They exchanged a glance, and dove for it, a tangle of clawing, cursing, and slapping-- but Troy’s longer arms won out. Pushing her away with his knee, he held up the ECHO with a triumphant smile, trying to find his place on the search page-- faced with an unfamiliar forum. “What is this?” He asked with a groan, seeing nothing but text on the screen, new comments appearing each second. “Some dorky-chat room?” 

Lionel glanced over his shoulder at the screen. “You clicked on one of the videos, God-King, this is the live chat-room.” He returned to his work, _praying_ he’d avoid notice if he just kept his head down. 

Troy searched for the exit button, watching Tyreen sulk in his peripherals. _“How do I get out of this damn--”_

A bolded comment caught his attention. 

_Did you see the Troy Calypso leak?_

He lingered long enough to see the response. 

_I saw it. Not bad for an amateur ;)_

He scoffed. _Amateur?_ When everyone else was singing his praises, you called him an _amateur?_ Composing a _nasty_ response, filled with expletives and threats-- he watched dozens of comments whiz past, _crazed_ with the idea of Troy collaborating with _whoever_ this was. “Ty,” he asked, glancing up from the floor at his sister, eyes sparkling with the beginnings of an idea. “What if we give them something _better_ than a sex tape?” 

Tyreen, still moody, had located her cat-- and glanced up to her brother. “Like what?” She asked, lifting the feline onto her lap with a soft _oomph._

Troy grinned. “A relationship.”


	4. The Deal

_ Tr0yCalyps0 requested a private show! _

You stared at the screen with disbelief. “This can’t be real,” you glanced up to Viv, presenting the message for her inspection, “it  _ can’t _ be him, right?” Usernames were easy to fake-- no photo attached, no activity on his page-- it  _ had  _ to be a prank, one of your mutuals saw the surge in activity, and--

_ Tr0yCalyps0 left a tip! _

Trembling, you clicked the notification, and scrolled to the number at the bottom of the screen.  _ That’s a lot of zeroes. That was enough zeroes to buy a whole new studio-- with a roof that didn’t leak.  _ You felt dizzy, and  _ nauseous.  _ “It’s  _ him,” _ you breathed, “it  _ has  _ to be him.” 

Viv squinted with suspicion, taking the device from your hands, and blanching. “Holy  _ shit.” _ She got to her feet, pushing the ECHO back in your hands, suddenly hurried. “You  _ have  _ to do the show! If  _ that  _ was a tip, imagine what he’d pay for a session!” 

Before you could say a word, she’d disappeared, searching for the  _ perfect _ costume from the trunk of lingerie and loungewear. You were stuck in place, staring at the screen, and that  _ number.  _ The Calypsos weren’t just  _ rich,  _ they were dangerous, they were  _ murderers,  _ and they wanted the whole galaxy under their thumb.  _ Who knows  _ where that money had come from-- or what  _ they  _ did to get it. 

It felt  _ wrong _ to normalize them-- to smile, flirt, and dance for them--  _ knowing _ what they did. 

You tapped the request, staring at the username for a moment longer, before composing your response. 

**_Give me five minutes to get ready ;)_ **

It felt  _ dirty,  _ compromising yourself for him. The nauseous feeling rose again, but you pushed it away-- repeating the mantra in your mind.  _ It's just one show. With the money he pays-- you can take the next ship to a Calypso-free planet-- and never think about him again.  _

_ It's just one show. _

The lingerie Viv selected was one of your newer sets, the lace still pristine and in-tact-- without the wear and tear of some of your more loved ensembles. It slid on easily, hugged your curves comfortably-- garters and tights completing the look. You slipped on a pair of patent-leather pumps, fluffed your hair, and touched up your makeup, before returning to the small recording space Viv had expertly curated. A selection of popular toys laid just off camera, ready for your use, a flush pink background lightening the space and making your dark lingerie seem  _ darker.  _

You swallowed the nerves that bubbled up in your stomach, and sat in front of the camera, peering into the reflective lens, and smothering your fear. 

_ It's just one show. _

Viv gave you a thumbs-up, setting the laptop within your reach so you could see what Troy saw, and read his requests in the chat. She sat back on the loveseat, and for once, seemed to be paying full attention to what would transpire. 

You took a deep breath, and clicked the button to start the show. A small icon appeared, indicating the remaining time in the session.  _ 15 minutes.  _ A blackened window appeared in the bottom right corner, a characterized silhouette of an anonymous audience. Your customers  _ could  _ use their camera if they wanted-- but most preferred to--

A flurry of little dots flooded the blackened window, and the camera adjusted to the new source of light. Troy  _ fucking  _ Calypso peered into the small camera, brow furrowed in concentration-- expression suddenly brightening as he realized he was on-screen. “ _ Wow,  _ all dressed up for an  _ amateur?”  _

You flushed, voice disappearing as you studied his background. Sunlight flooded in from a nearby window-- blackened walls decorated with neon COV symbols, multi-colored lights flickering overhead. He was seated in a large (almost  _ thronelike) _ chair, draped with fur and studded with heavy silver spikes. 

“Skag got your tongue?” He asked, leaning closer to the camera as he in turn examined the stage you’d set for him.  _ Cute.  _ They’d have to work on your decor if you were joining them at the Temple. “I wasn’t sure how else to get your attention-- and I thought sending a team of followers to your door would send the wrong message,” he mused, “but if you’d rather talk with them--”

“ _ No!”  _ You choked out, finally. “This is fine, thank you. What do you--” you took another soft breath, trying to force calm into your expression. “What do you want  _ me  _ to do? I have toys, and ropes and…” you panicked, drawing a blank.

Troy laughed before he could stop himself. “That, uh, wasn’t what I had in mind, actually-- though  _ very _ tempting,” he shifted forward on the throne, peering at the screen, “I have a proposition for you.” He eluded, looking perfectly relaxed and at ease. “But I don’t like negotiating over the phone.”

“I don’t--” you did your best to look forceful, or at the very least, confident. “I don’t do hook-ups, Mr. Calypso,” you insisted, ignoring the look Viv gave you. “That’s not my line of work.” You set your jaw, firm on that point. Hooking up with a client, no matter if they were a megalomaniacal cult leader or not, was  _ bad  _ for business. Hook-ups led to feelings, and feelings led to… complications. “You’re going to have to find someone else, I’m sorry.”

Troy, inwardly, was impressed. Not many women could (or would, for that matter) turn him down. But, before too long, the humor returned to his expression. “I’m  _ not  _ propositioning you,” he corrected, lips tilting into a small smirk. “I’m offering you a job.” He wasn’t stupid. He could see the cheap quality lingerie, and the  _ sheet  _ you used as a background. Like everyone else on Pandora, you could be motivated with  _ money.  _ “How much would it take for you to meet with me?” He asked, cool and confident. “Ten-thousand? Fifty-thousand?”

You swallowed. 

“I’ll send a driver tonight,” he offered, assumptively. “You can bring your friend if you want.” He hung up, with a small wink to the camera. 

Viv was up before you’d even blinked. “Y/N-- you  _ have  _ to take the job!” She pleaded, positioning herself in front of you as you tried to move for the bathroom. “With that kind of money, you could get  _ off  _ of Pandora, you could go anywhere you want!” She touched your cheek, forcing you to meet her eyes.  _ “It's what you always wanted.” _

You pulled away, angrily. “I didn’t want to get there working for guys like  _ him!”  _ Ripping off the heels and abandoning them, you stalked into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind you. 

You could hear Viv’s soft footsteps, and the tentative knock that followed. 

You were hunched over the sink, running the tap and watching the yellow-tinged water flow into the drain. 

_ “I don’t want to die on Pandora,”  _ she echoed softly, “do you remember when you said that to me?” She didn’t need to raise her voice, or force her way in, she knew you were listening. “That first show? I held you all night, when you cried, when you saw your first paycheck… I was  _ there  _ for you,  _ every  _ time.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes, stinging as you tried to fight them back. 

“And now I need you to be there for me.” 

You turned off the tap. 

“I don’t want to die on Pandora, Y/N. I don’t want my kids to grow up here, where people like the Calypsos run the show,” it was a low-blow, and she knew it, “this is our chance to  _ escape _ .” The word sounded so tempting, yet so elusive and distant.  _ “Please,  _ Y/N. If you can’t do it for you, do it for  _ me.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo, tension! What do we think? Is Troy going to behave himself? I'd love to hear what you think, thanks for all the sweet comments (they totally make me smile <3) As always, comments and kudos are encouraged!


	5. Training Wheels

You didn’t know what to expect. A guy like Troy certainly wasn’t going to send a limousine, but this was… almost insulting. The bandit-technical had a body strapped across the hood, flies buzzing around the rotting carcass, and a fanatic was at the wheel. 

The driver grinned at you, his gaze predatory as he examined you, giving a low growl of approval at your choice of attire. “Two?” He inquired, voice raspy and rough, and entirely off-putting. “Father Troy said _two!”_

 _“I’m coming!”_ Viv breezed through the front door of the studio, hair-pins tucked between her lips as she tried to wrangle her unkempt red locks into something presentable. She took a second to examine the vehicle, before climbing into the backseat. She gave you a shrug as if to imply: _what did you expect?_

Grimacing, you stared up at the surprisingly imposing technical, and down at your heels. It felt like an appropriate touch at the time, but _now…_ “I’m going to change my shoes,” you offered, a weak excuse to bail on what was already proving to be a disaster. 

You barely made it step before the bandit snarled: _“no!”_ He scrambled down from the driver’s seat, tumbling onto the dirt, and staring up at you with wide and manic eyes. _“Cannot wait!”_

You recoiled, frightened, seeing the bandit prostrated on the ground at your feet. _Is this what Troy felt like? Having these psychos worship his every move?_ It didn’t feel good-- it felt _sad._ “Get up,” you urged softly, taking a miniscule step towards the car, as if to encourage him. “I can’t reach the car-- that’s all.” 

The bandit seemed to understand, quickly scrambling to his feet, and extending one _filthy_ hand to you. _“Help!”_ he insisted, eyes sparkling with almost childlike glee. 

His hand was matted with dirt and blood, blackened fingernails, calloused and cracked. It was _disgusting._ But it wasn’t like you had much of a choice in the matter. Taking his hand, you were quickly pushed up into the passenger seat, the door slammed behind you swiftly. 

He climbed back into the car, revving the engine, and peeling off without a second thought. He grinned, screaming something unintelligible as the wind rushed through the windows. The car tore across every bump, rock, and ridge along the road, shaking the vehicle violently. The bandit seemed to relish in it, swerving to collide with easily avoidable-obstacles. 

You were grabbing every available surface, anything to serve as a handle or a secure point as the whole technical seemed to rattle and moan each time he touched the accelerator. _Of course there were no seatbelts. There were barely even seats!_

After what felt like _hours,_ the vehicle finally began to approach your destination. Bandits multiplied in numbers, blurred as the technical whizzed past huge displays of scaffolding, stained white sheets concealing what lay inside-- still under construction. The car came to a violent halt at the base of a awe-inspiring statue of Tyreen, carved from an unfamiliar beige stone, each detail recreated in a stunning display of craftsmanship. 

You gawked up at the visage of the infamous God-Queen, startled as a swarm of bandits clustered around the door to the technical. 

Some wore masks, others had painted crude vault-symbols onto their skin-- COV emblems plastered across every available surface of their skin. One tried to grab you through the window-- before she was dragged back by the crowd, clearing enough of a space for you to exit the vehicle. 

The driver to your technical presented himself, that same filthy hand offered, and a wide (if unsettling) grin in place. _“Help!”_ he insisted, thrilled when you accepted, doing the same for Viv when you were safely settled on the ground. 

The driver disappeared into the crowd, a writhing, violent mass of fanatics circling the technical-- not yet _touching_ you. It was a dizzying combination of smells, sights, and sounds. Vertigo swelled at your temples, and you closed your eyes, feeling your back collide with the rough exterior of the vehicle. 

There was a strange sound, just loud enough to be heard over the crowd, the soft _whoosh_ of something being caught aflame, and a series of loud _pops_ \-- like small firecrackers exploding out in a burst. Cracking open an eye, you found yourself _inside._

Troy’s bedroom looked different from this angle-- his computer idle on the large desk in the corner, black walls sparkling in the intrusive moonlight. The throne had been pushed back against the wall, and two smaller metal folding chairs neatly placed in the center of the room. 

Viv appeared beside you in a burst of orange flame, eyes wide with panic. “What the hell was that?” She hissed quietly, surveying the room with a mixture of vapid curiosity and terror. “It was like _magic!_ You just _disappeared_ in a burst of fire, and--”

The door to the hallway opened, and you caught the last dregs of a conversation. “That’s the last time I use _my_ powers to help you pick up a chick, Troy!” Tyreen’s voice floated in, tinged with annoyance, as the aforementioned brother stooped to enter the room. 

Troy rolled his eyes at his sister’s insistence, before cracking a small smile at the two women standing in the center of the room. “You didn’t like the welcome party?” He asked, slamming the door behind him with a little extra _oomph,_ a firm reminder that his sister wasn’t welcome. 

“If you could teleport us _instantly,”_ you asked, ignoring his question, “why send a driver to begin with?” You waited for him to deposit himself on the gaudy throne before you sat in the offered chair, hiding the irritation behind a passive neutrality. 

Troy’s smile didn’t falter, though it did slope a little more to the left. “I wanted to let you meet the family,” he offered sweetly, toying with one of the silver spikes welded to his throne. “They’re an excellent judge of character, in my experience,” he glanced towards the window, the sounds of engines revving in the night filling the silence. 

Viv slipped into the remaining seat noiselessly, her posture perfectly upright and _tight._ Whatever thought crossed her mind died before it reached her lips, reaching into her bag and pulling out her ECHO, stylus poised to take notes. “Mr… Calypso,” she began, offering a polite smile, “you’ve been more than hospitable to us-- and I want to take the opportunity to thank you for the _warm_ welcome.”

Troy nodded, resting his chin on his fist, looking you over with a lazy analysis. “God-King,” he corrected, softly. 

Her eyes flicked between the two of you. “Pardon?”

He leaned forward in his chair. “It was cute when she said it,” he finally looked at Viv, lifting a brow in a silent challenge, “but _once_ is enough. God-King Troy, if you _must_ address me.” 

Viv was stunned into silence for a moment, but tried to move past it, discomfort clear in her expression. _“God-King,”_ she repeated, “got it.” 

“Now that that’s out of the way,” his smile returned, bright and cocksure, “let’s discuss the job.” The tattoos decorating his flesh arm flooded with a bright, bloody red pigment-- giving his features a _darker_ glow. His bright smile seemed suddenly sinister, the excitement in his eyes threatening. His ECHO floated over, suspending in a brilliant violet bubble of light, depositing the device gently in his hand. “I meant what I said on the call, you know,” the color faded from his tattoos, “whether or not you take the job-- I’ll pay you for making the trip.” 

It was a tempting offer-- a blank check written to whatever amount you could dare to imagine. What amount of money was _substantial_ to a _God?_ You conjured a number from thin air: “a hundred-thousand,” you concluded decisively. It was enough to pay off the mortgage, the car, any outstanding debts still hanging over your head. _Enough to make him sweat a little._

Troy shrugged, lifting his ECHO, tapping a few keys, and sending the device away in a flourish of violet energy. “Done.” 

That was more money than you had _ever_ seen in your life, and he gave it away like it was _nothing._ It was more than your parents made in their _lives._ A feeling of dread settled in your stomach. 

“I hope you see how serious I am about this,” he continued, watching the shock settle over your features. “Whatever small time shit you were running on your cam shows-- it’s over now. Those people out there?” He gestured to the window again. “They _worship_ me. If I like something-- they flock to it,” he smiled, his canines seeming _jagged_ and predatory. “I gave you a _gift.”_

“What _job_ is possibly worth this much to you?” 

Troy glanced over to Viv, annoyance flooding his expression. “I’m getting _real_ tired of hearing you talk,” he snapped, “about things that have _nothing_ to do with you.” There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, lip curling to reveal the slightest peek at the ivory of his teeth. 

“What’s the job, then?” You asked, relaxing as his attention returned to you, and the homicidal expression softened. 

“You get to be a part-time God,” his lips twitched into the slightest smile, _“and_ pretend you’re sleeping with me.” As if sensing your hesitation, he explained.

“Look,” Troy elaborated, fingers still toying with the silver studs protruding from his throne, “I don’t have to tell _you_ this, but _sex sells,”_ his eyes watched you carefully, hawk-like, analyzing ever small twitch, “and _we_ have the potential to make _a lot_ of money. When I open the Great Vault, there’s not going to be a thing in this galaxy that I don’t control… don’t you want to be on the winning side?” His lip curled with the slightest hesitation. “Or are you one of those Crimson _Traitors?”_

You’d seen their propaganda, watched the footage that circulated the ECHOnet-- but you were far from a sympathizer. As far as you knew, their battle with the Calypsos was a personal one-- and they cared more about taking _them_ down than actually changing Pandora for the better. They profited off the violence, same as the Calypsos, and you’d be a fool to trade one collar for the other. 

But Troy was watching you expectantly, his eyes dark and glassy with a foreign emotion. The silence was suffocating, and each of his pointed little stares seemed to drive the boot-heel deeper into your neck. 

“I’m not,” you replied, coolly, “but I’m not one of _your_ followers _either.”_

Whether or not you passed his little test was unclear, but his expression shifted as he reverted back to the matter at hand. “People _love_ a love story,” he hypothesized, again shifting on the massive throne as he laid out his plan. “But I don’t have the time or the _energy_ to deal with a ball and chain,” a flicker of annoyance passed his features at the thought of Aurelia, “I’ve got a galaxy to run. So, you and I are going to play the part of the _loving,_ doting couple-- and I’m gonna pay you for it. _Deal?”_

What a beautiful, gross-oversimplification of a, _frankly,_ stupid plan. “Why me?” You asked, cutting straight to the marrow with a flick of unimpressed, unmoved tact. “Why not one of your _millions_ of fan-girls?” 

“They can’t control themselves,” he answered, that dark glint returning to his eyes, “they’d only want me for my body, my fame-- _you_ only want me for my money… and I can control that.” His focus was on you now, Viv sitting unattended and ignored to your right. “And luck, if I’m being honest, you were the first girl I found who wasn’t _already_ in love with me.”

This prompted an eye-roll, but nothing worth contesting. “So, you want me to be your fake girlfriend? What does that entail?” 

Troy’s fingers moved dexterously across the surface of his flashy robotic arm, rehearsed and symbiotic, as a large hunk of the stylized iron dislodged itself, and a motorized _whirring_ filled the room. The little camera opened its lens with the insecurity of a deer learning to walk for the first time, floating beside Troy’s head, as if awaiting a command. “Smile for the camera,” he spoke finally, looking up to the machine with no small amount of affection, “come with me on some God-King shit, _girlfriend_ stuff.” With another flick of his fingertips, the camera came whirring over to rest in your lap, its motors purring as it floated just an inch above your skin-- close enough to feel the heat it produced. “It’s not recording now-- I just want to get you acquainted. _That_ is how you’re going to get paid. The more you pander to it, the more you sell the bit, the more _convincing_ you are, the better this whole machine runs.” 

It was hard to believe the power that little camera had. Small enough to fit in your hands, big enough to change your life. It was nothing different from your normal work, right? Smile at the camera, pretend you were enjoying the ride? The only difference was, if you failed--

“Do we have a deal?” Troy asked again, impatience seeping into his tone. “Because if you’re gonna pass, I’m going to have to call somebody else, and--” 

“No,” you replied, watching the camera float away with a little purr of its engines. “I’ll do it.” You could feel Viv perk up beside you, and forced yourself not to glance in her direction to confirm it. “But we need to lay out some ground rules.” 

Troy was amused enough to let you continue. 

“No hook-ups,” you listed, expression grim, “I don’t care if it's on camera or not-- I’m _not_ doing it.” Seeing somewhat reluctant agreement, you continued, “you do whatever you have to-- but _I’m_ not a bandit. I’m not _killing_ people, or going on raids, or--”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, “fine. I wasn’t asking you to.” It was a roadblock, sure, but if _that_ was your line in the sand, he could find a way around it. “Anything else?” 

You thought for a moment, carefully laying your ducks in a row. “When you open the Great Vault, or _whatever_ your goal is, I want no part of it. I want to be _thousands_ of miles away from here, as far as you can take me. And I _never_ want to see you again.”

Troy considered it, judiciously weighing the pros and cons in his head. “Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh, “I can do that,” he leaned forward in his chair, “if you haven't changed your mind by then, that is,” he shot you a small wink, offering you the extended hand from his mechanical arm. “We got a deal?” 

You studied his outstretched hand, a pool of temptation soaking the dread already present in your stomach. You’d gotten this far. What was a couple more weeks? You slid your flesh hand into his metal one, wincing at the cold bite of the metal against your skin, shaking once before retracting your grasp.

His smile was absolutely _wicked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already at Chapter Five! What do we think so far? Thank you for your lovely comments! I love to hear what you guys think of each chapter, and getting the notifications really makes my day! Thanks for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting, as always!


	6. Part-Time Goddess

Viv was quiet when you returned to the studio, dismissed with a bright orange flash, and finding yourself deposited on the front porch. 

The vertigo didn’t fade, you found, until you spent a few minutes with your feet on the ground. Taking a few deep breaths, you glanced over to your counterpart, who’d started pulling the numerous pins from her hair, already knocked eschew by your wild technical ride earlier in the day. 

Her expression was morose, sober, deep in thought as she unlocked the weak-wooden door to the studio. 

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation at her sulking, tempted to remind her which of you was _really_ making the sacrifice here, but you settled for taking a deep breath and following her inside. Everything was as you’d left it, thankfully, considering that your locks were more of a decoration than a valid security system. 

The clock hanging above the door reminded you with a soft chime that your time here was short. Troy had insisted you wouldn’t need much from your studio, confident, in fact, that he could provide anything you could possibly need with a snap of his fingers. He pointedly warned that in ten minutes, whether you were finished or not, you’d be brought back by Tyreen… _alone._

You didn’t know when, _if,_ you’d see Viv again. This was your time to say heartfelt goodbyes, at least for the foreseeable future. The somber mood was spoiled as a bra flew past your ear, colliding with the wall beside your head. _“Hey!”_ You snapped, glancing down at the projectile and seeing half of one of your more _daring_ sets of lingerie. “What’s with the temper tantrum?” 

Viv ignored you, rooting through the costumes, and tossing some back towards your feet with almost mechanical efficiency. Her jaw was set in a firm line, eyes narrowed as she tossed back another set of lace panties with excessive force. 

You felt a press of anger in your chest, dodging her next projectile and crossing the room towards her beloved costumes. _“You_ wanted me to take this job! Why are you being pissy about it now?” 

She spun around, fists clenched at her sides, eyes bright with fury. “I didn’t know what the job was, _Y/N._ And I can’t say I’m _ecstatic_ about the idea of you cuddling up to Troy Calypso.” She searched your expression for a moment, forlorn. “You didn’t even _ask_ me,” she added, dejection drenched in lingering anger. 

_You couldn’t_ _believe this._ “You were fine with it when _you_ were getting paid!” You grabbed the lace from her hands, past the point of teary goodbyes. “But when it’s _my_ turn to be rewarded for my hard work-- it’s _evil?”_

She laughed, bitterly. _“Your hard work?_ Who bought you that camera? Who cosigned the lease for this house? Who spends _night after night_ here watching you shake your ass, instead of being home with her husband?” 

“I never asked you to do that!”

“You didn’t have to! You _needed_ me-- and in _there_ you suddenly _forgot_ that,” she shook her head, red curls falling into her face. “I’m not going to congratulate you on selling your _soul.”_

You were silent, stony, stuck-in-place. “Fine,” you offered finally, “the studio’s yours. Do _whatever_ the fuck you want with it.” You pushed past her into the back room, grabbing a duffel bag from the floor, and shoving anything within reach into it. A few costumes, a few of your favorite toys, some of your more casual clothing, and the few remaining relics of your childhood you hadn’t lost or discarded. 

When you emerged into the living room, Viv was on the loveseat, in her usual place. The waning moonlight cast her silhouette in shadow, her ECHO in hand, the soft _clicks_ the only thing filling the silence. She looked up at you, her expression distant, removed, _vacant,_ before returning her attention to the small screen. 

Something stung deep in your chest, and you averted your face as you walked past the couch, holding your chin high. You glanced at the clock above the door, watching the second hand move with a sloth like pace, until finally, your time expired. 

So quietly, you thought you might have imagined it, Viv spoke from the couch: _“good luck, Y/N.”_

You barely had time to glance over your shoulder before a burst of violent orange flame engulfed you in a torrent of small pops, that _almost_ familiar nauseous feeling pulling at your stomach as you landed _hard_ on the floor of the temple. 

Troy’s studded and deteriorated leather boots were the only things in view. 

You groaned, clutching your temples as you tried to overcome the vertigo. It felt like your head was swelling, constricted by a rubber-band, throbbing and dizzying. 

Troy offered a hand, clicking his tongue in a sympathetic way. “You’ll get used to it eventually,” he assured, guiding you upright, and helping you regain your balance. “Ty vomited the first time she used it--”

 _“Troy!”_ The shout of embarrassed outrage was shortly followed by the God-Queen herself, hurrying down the large stairs, a flush crawling up her neck. “Don’t _tell_ her that!” 

Her twin just smiled, releasing you from his grasp and turning to his sister. “You need my help for this, or…?” he trailed off expectantly. 

Tyreen waved him off. “Get lost, you’ll only distract her,” she offered her own smile, which was somehow more unsettling than her scowl. “You’re _lucky,_ you know that?” She mused quietly to you, as Troy disappeared into the next room. “If I had my way, you’d be out on your ass.” She took you by the arm, pulling you along up the stairs with an insistent pace. 

“Where are we going?” You demanded, resisting just enough to slow her down, not arrest her movement. Troy was a _known_ evil, but Tyreen was _terrifyingly_ unknown. Whatever mania you found in Troy, it was doubled in his twin-- sharpened and shined with a dangerous edge. 

Tyreen’s smile faltered for a moment, frustration registered as she tugged you along, turning just enough to meet your eyes. “You’re going to be on _camera,_ Y/N,” your name sounded threatening in her sweet dulcet, “you’re going to represent the family from now on. You need to _look_ like one of us-- even if you _aren’t.”_

Inwardly, you reflected that you were _glad_ to be excluded from their psychotic little club, but you merely offered a polite, if forced, smile and allowed her to pull you along. 

Tyreen deposited you on her bed, and entered the adjoining room, muttering curses and insults under her breath. “My clothes _probably_ aren’t going to fit you, so we’ll have to improvise for now,” she called over her shoulder, gathering an armful of garments and laying them on the bed beside you. 

It was… a _lot_ of leather, you noted. Studded collars, black fabrics, distressed denim, with _painful_ looking accessories. Her clothes, like everything else about her, were designed to frighten you. Soon enough, you’d look like her-- and the thought was chilling enough to bring back the pit in your stomach. 

With one more trip to the closet, Tyreen had assembled her haul, selected pieces from the massive pile and handed them off to you with a silent order. She waited, arms crossed with expectation, eyes sharp and critical. 

It took a few tries, but Tyreen refined her vision into something _wearable,_ and settled onto a look for you. She nodded with tacit approval, before approaching her vanity, and searching through the drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors, excited grin in place. 

You withdrew immediately, eyes flashing with fear. “What are you--”

She rolled her eyes: “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but short hair is kind of the _thing_ around here,” she snapped the sharp blades once to emphasize her point. “It’s coming off, but if you fight me on this, it’s going to look a hell of a lot _worse.”_

Gingerly, you approached and sat in the offered chair, hearing the buzz of electric shears, and seeing her expression reflected in the mirror in front of you. 

She made decisive cuts, a pile of clippings gathering on the floor, taking her sweet time, and ignoring the fear clear on your face. Finally, she turned off the clippers, and turned the chair with a nudge of her hip, leaving you facing the mirror. “There it is,” she concluded, pride oozing from her voice, “the _best_ haircut you’re ever going to get.”

To your surprise… it wasn’t half-bad. Certainly, not a choice you would have made yourself, but your hair felt soft to the touch, well-maintained and free of split-ends. 

She laid her hands on your shoulders, brushing off a stray piece of hair. “He’s going to lose his mind,” she insisted, confidently, “you look _hot.”_

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, but you doubted she wanted you to. Sending you off with an armful of clothing to fill out your new wardrobe, and a set of hasty instructions to Troy’s room, you were pushed out the door. 

It didn’t help that all of the hallways in the temple looked _exactly_ the same, but you set off regardless, murmuring Tyreen’s directions under your breath like a mantra. _Left. Second right. Down the stairs. Third door on the left. Left. Second right. Down the stairs. Third door on the left._

The blackened door was almost indistinguishable from the rest in the temple, except the noise of soft rock thrumming from inside. You recognized the song, vintage and melancholy, and listened to the chorus for a moment before knocking. 

No response. 

Twisting the knob, you were surprised to find it unlocked, a gentle cloud of sweet-smelling smoke greeting your nose as you stepped inside Troy’s room. The speaker was at the foot of the bed, louder now, an ancient cassette player decorated with a teetering stack of damaged tapes-- labels faded and rewritten countless times. 

Troy was splayed across his bed, holding a thin-paper joint between his lips, and exhaling a fragrant plume of smoke. He barely reacted as you entered, shifting first, before opening his eyes and glancing in your direction. It was then that he sat upright, extinguishing the joint in the ashtray, and pushing it aside.  _ “Much better,”  _ he concluded, standing to deafen the music, and approaching to examine you at arm’s length. 

The sweetness was almost mouth-watering, and you were tempted to ask  _ what  _ the hell he was smoking, but found yourself quiet as you awaited his inspection. What  _ time  _ was it? Troy had lowered thick curtains over the window, leaving only the gentle strobe of red-light illuminating the interior of his bedroom. 

“Your  _ hair,”  _ Troy reached out, brushing the ends with a delicate touch, almost reverently. “You really  _ look  _ like one of us,” he mused, retracting his touch, almost hesitantly, dark eyes bearing into yours with a subtle intensity.

Warmth pooled in your stomach, from some combination of the relentless sweet smell, or the gentle brush of his fingers, just barely stopping yourself from reaching out for his hand after he’d pulled away. 

“You must be exhausted,” he withdrew to the bed, glancing over his shoulder-- almost  _ perplexed  _ when you didn’t follow. “Aren’t you?”

Pushing down  _ whatever  _ that was, you swallowed the lump in your throat and stared at him. “Where am _ I  _ sleeping?” 

He blinked, still too mellowed to let the mild irritation that rose overtake his expression. “On the bed? Where do you normally sleep?” 

You rolled your eyes, the tender feeling evaporating as you remembered the reason you disliked him in the first place. “We had a deal. I don’t do hook-ups, and I don’t--”

“We’re just sharing a  _ bed,”  _ Troy corrected, “as I recall, that doesn’t violate any part of your  _ boning  _ ban.” The mellow had begun to fade, leaving him  _ here  _ with you, the shiny newness of your appearance no longer softening his contempt on the subject of your  _ strict  _ rules. “Think about it this way,” he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the pillows,  _ “every _ morning, one of the priestesses brings me breakfast. Tomorrow, she comes in, and finds my  _ new  _ girlfriend asleep on the floor,” he lifted a brow, expectantly, “you can  _ see  _ how that’s going to raise some questions,  _ right?”  _

In some clouded, deceitful part of your brain-- his words made sense. It wasn’t  _ just  _ about lying to the camera, it was about lying to  _ everyone.  _ All of the bandits, priests,  _ every single follower  _ needed to believe that  _ this  _ was  _ real.  _

And, apparently, that involved sharing a bed with Troy Calypso. 

Mulling this over, you shrugged off Tyreen’s leather jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby chair. “Keep your hands to yourself,” you muttered, contemptuously, unlacing the borrowed sneakers, “or we’re going to have a  _ problem.”  _

Troy contained his smug glee to a simple smile, staring up at the ceiling. _ “No promises.”  _

Even  _ after  _ stripping all the accessories, bits, and baubles, you were left in a pair of distressed jeans, and a tight top emblazoned with more than one choice word. Wordlessly, you glanced up to Troy, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“You’re going to sleep like that?” He was fiddling with his metal arm absentmindedly, peeking at you in his peripherals as he twisted a particularly tight screw. Then, in a flash of brilliance: “she didn’t give you pajamas?” 

No, you realized. She’d given you three pairs of studded sneakers, an assortment of chokers, and enough pairs of fishnet tights to last a lifetime-- but she had  _ not  _ given you one soft shirt, one pair of athletic shorts, or  _ anything  _ that could offer even a modicum of comfort. 

Troy laughed under his breath, standing, and approaching the wardrobe on the far-side of the room. “What did you bring with you?” He asked aloud, poking through one of the drawers. “Books?” 

_ If only.  _ You thought back to the risque contents of your duffel bag with a brief flush of pink. “Uh…”

“Here,” Troy extended a fistful of fabric in your direction, thoughtlessly. “You can borrow mine.” Adding, with a brief shine of mischief in his eyes:  _ “I promise not to peek.” _ He returned to the bed, his own sleep attire composed of a worn pair of boxers, and an old tee advertising some music festival, the design chipped and faded with time. 

As briskly as possible, you shoved the slim-fitting jeans down your legs, turning your back to him as you shrugged off the top, shortly followed by your bra. The cotton tee was soft against your skin, clearly well-loved over the years. It was  _ nice,  _ and surprisingly simple. 

True to his word, you found, Troy was  _ not  _ peeking when you approached the bed. Unwinding one final screw, he carefully cleaved the mechanical arm from his torso with a sigh of relief. Cautiously laying it beside the bed, he finally noticed your presence, lifting the sheets just enough for you to slip inside. 

“Does it… hurt?” You asked, pulling one of the pillows closer to your side of the bed, wiggling the cover up over your hips. 

He was quiet for a moment. “Not much… it’s just  _ heavy  _ sometimes.” He twisted ever-so-slightly, groaning as strained muscles finally got the opportunity to relax. 

The thought was comforting, in a strange way. With the almost inaudible sounds of a strumming guitar, you drifted into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-third of the way through the story already! Comments and kudos are encouraged, thank you for reading! <3


	7. Acting the Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are encouraged! <3

You could feel Troy shifting behind you, and murmured a soft ‘stop’ in his direction as you buried your face in the pillows-- rewarded with the smell of sunshine, and the remnants of the sweet smelling smoke. It took a moment to register the arm wrapped around your waist, and longer still to notice the soft tickle of his breathing against the slope of your neck-- alarm shooting through your body as you pushed him away-- accusation in your eyes. 

He smiled blearily up at you, falling back to his side of the bed, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. “You liked it last night,” he justified innocently, “you were  _ cold.”  _ You  _ almost  _ believed him-- until that shit-eating grin appeared. Still, he seemed quite ambivalent about the whole thing, content to curl back into the warm blankets. “Today’s the day,” he offered cheerily, gingerly lifting the curtains, and watching the sunlight stream in through the slender opening. “You ready?”

_ Were you ready?  _ “What are we doing?” You asked, ignoring his question as you mulled over the answer. How could you  _ prepare  _ for something like this? How  _ convincing  _ did you have to be? Was it as simple as pretending to enjoy his company? Somehow his weak promise to keep you separate from his more  _ objectionable  _ practices did not reassure you.

“Breakfast,” he answered, matter of factly, “and then we plant the seed. Take a few pictures, take a joyride,” he smiled again,  _ “girlfriend  _ shit.” 

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Father Troy?” 

He reacted quickly, hand snapping out to loop around your waist, anchoring you to him and pressing his lips to the crown of your head as he called out:  _ “yeah?”  _ And then, under his breath: “can you keep it together for two minutes?”

The priestess entered with a measured speed, hesitating as she noticed  _ your  _ presence in Troy’s bed, and the innocently compromised position she found you in. “Forgive me, I did not know you were  _ entertaining,”  _ the envy in her tone was hard to miss, but she tenderly laid the tray at the foot of the bed. “Leave the dishes outside the door when you’re done, I’ll be by to pick them up.” With one last glance in your direction, she made a swift exit. 

Troy released you almost instantly, reaching for the silver tray and pulling it closer. “I’m  _ starving,”  _ he complained, examining the display of delicacies laid out for his pleasure. 

You gawked at the treats, the discomfort of being held so close vanishing in an instant of childlike delight. A delicious combination of exotic fruits, pastries, and a generous glass of sickly sweet smelling juice. You didn’t recognize more than one of the items, reaching for the coral pink cubes of sticky melon, holding it up to your nose to sniff. Satisfied, you pressed the fruit to your tongue. It was bright, tart, and cool. 

Troy was watching your reaction, amused, but returned to his pastry when you met his gaze. 

The next was a small bowl of brilliantly red berries, small and round, piled in a neat mound. Curious, you tried one of these, and quickly discovered a uniquely satisfying taste. It was sweet, with an undercurrent of heat, and brought a brilliant tingling feeling to the surface of your tongue. “Where did you get these?” You asked, rolling one between your fingers and glancing over in his direction, finding him absorbed in a chocolate-covered treat. 

He shrugged. “One of the Edens? I’m not the  _ berry-fetcher,  _ I don’t know.” 

Dissatisfied with his answer, you made a mental note to ask one of the priestesses if you had the opportunity. You worked your way through the tray, content to try a bite of each of the presented items, and found (after a moment of happy munching) that this was strangely peaceful. Troy was more than happy to leave you alone to try and taste, submerged in his own thoughts, too distracted to bother you. 

But soon (too soon), breakfast was over and the day’s events began. Restoring Tyreen’s carefully selected outfit, and waiting patiently for Troy to select his own, you pinned back the thick black curtains, and peered out over the unfinished Cathedral. Bandits were already milling around beneath the high-overhead sun, some dragging large chunks of stone or heaps of scrap, others scaling up unsteady scaffolding to add COV insignias to every bare inch of the structure. 

Troy finally emerged, his arm reattached, and the hefty fur coat slung over his shoulders. Every detail was managed, you soon noticed, from the neatly unkempt hair, to the stark black tattoos adorning the bare plain of his chest, even the carefully laced boots. 

There was a moment of silence, until Troy offered you his hand, another calculated measure-- keeping you close at a distance, guiding you through the winding halls of the Cathedral with effortless grace-- ignoring every passing cultist with practiced indifference. 

Some were bold enough to stare, others merely accepted the irregularity and moved on. 

Troy’s technical was waiting, carefully polished and shined, in all its glory. The matte black exterior of the car was disrupted by bright bursts of neon paint, pink and green, the windows entirely removed-- and a massive gunner seat up top. The doors were welded shut, reinforced with iron, and, you noted with some chagrin, a temporary seat-belt had been added to the passenger seat. 

He smiled, gesturing to the empty space created by the vacant window. “You need a boost?” There was unabashed pride in his voice, running his free hand down the side of the vehicle.  _ “Fuck,  _ it’s been a while since I’ve driven her.”

_ Her?  _ You stifled a small laugh, still daunted by the task of scaling the outside of the car. “What if it flips?” You asked, worriedly. 

Troy hoisted you with his robotic arm without warning, easily closing the gap between the window and the ground. “Then, we die.” He said, simply, ensuring you were safely inside before rounding the vehicle and sliding in himself. He revved the engine once, waiting impatiently until the safety belt was around your waist before spinning the tires, and tearing out of the Cathedral with frightening speed. 

You soon discovered that the bandit,  _ whatever his name was, _ was a  _ much  _ better driver than Troy Calypso. While he didn’t swerve headfirst into obstacles, Troy pushed the accelerator to the limit, laughing as the wind screamed past your ears. He made sharp turns, drove  _ too  _ close to cliffs, and ramped the vehicle over any suitable scrap. 

Whether it was adrenaline, or simply hysteria… you started to laugh along with him. When the technical was moving so quickly, the sun was shining in, far from that oppressive Cathedral, and all the terrible things inside… it was easy to forget  _ who  _ Troy was. 

Troy eased to a reluctant stop when he needed to refuel, stopping at a run-down Catch-a-Ride, idling as the fuel dripped into the tank, pulling out his ECHO and mindlessly scrolling. “Heh,” he said, suddenly, “these are some pretty good shots.” He turned the device to show you, leaning back against the fuel-pump and shielding his eyes from the sun. 

The photos, you discovered, were of  _ you.  _ One from this morning, still asleep and curled against Troy, lips parted in a silent snore-- Troy winking and shooting the camera a thumbs-up. The next few were action shots, taking during his erratic joy-ride. You were terrified, gripping your seat in obvious peril… but this faded in the subsequent images, until you were smiling and laughing beside him. 

Something wiggled loose inside your chest, and you suddenly felt light-headed and nauseous. 

Troy stared up at your suddenly blank expression, brow knitting. “What?” 

You silently climbed back into your seat, buckling the safety-belt, and staring out the window at the wide empty desert. “Do you have what you need for today?”

Troy pulled the fuel-pump, confused. “I guess? We have enough for the day--”

“Then take me back to the Cathedral.” 


	8. Ice Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are encouraged! Please let me know what you think! <3

_ What a ghastly surprise. Troy had found himself a new toy. _

Aurelia Hammerlock sneered at the pictures as they filtered across her ECHO. Of  _ course  _ it stung to see him with someone  _ new.  _ But it was clear that the  _ girl,  _ whoever she was, did not  _ compare.  _ Aurelia was a rarefied beauty, entirely and totally unmatched-- and no  _ girl  _ would change that. A simple glance between the two would confirm that-- it was beneath her to even dwell on it! 

… but maybe  _ Troy  _ needed a reminder. 

So, it was settled. The Vault Hunters were easy to distract, the rumor of a hidden treasure in the jungle was  _ more  _ than enough to occupy them for a few days. Booking a chartered flight to Pandora, and setting off the next morning. 

~~~

Women were  _ exhausting.  _ That was what Troy decided on the  _ agonizingly  _ long drive back to the Cathedral. If he made an effort to be  _ pleasant,  _ or acted like  _ himself--  _ the response was the same. You’d  _ liked  _ the ride, right? You’d laughed with him, looked  _ so  _ happy in the pictures, why were you suddenly sullen now? 

He didn’t attempt any fancy tricks, ramps, or veering turns, maintaining a tight grip on the wheel, expression foul. It was what you’d agreed upon-- you’d taken the pictures, played the part-- what more did he want? 

He  _ liked  _ your laugh. He  _ liked  _ the look of wonderment on your expression when you tried the fruit this morning. He  _ liked  _ the way you looked in his shirt. But it was all part of a bigger game. You wanted the money, and he was just something to endure until you got it. The thought deepened his scowl, foot pressing harder on the accelerator, jaw set  _ tightly  _ in place.  _ Fine.  _ He didn’t have to like you. It was an agreement, a business arrangement, a  _ transaction.  _

He just wished you weren’t such a good  _ actor.  _

The technical came to a sharp and violent stop, Troy killing the engine, and climbing out, pointedly ignoring you as he stalked into the Cathedral. 

You deftly undid the safety belt, watching his form retreat inside the concrete fortress, content when he disappeared from your view. It was slow, and tricky to descend from the massive vehicle, but you managed to do so without injuring yourself, landing safely on the ground. In some way, you knew you were responsible for his mood swings, but you were content to let him brood. Now you had time to explore the Cathedral, free of his oversight, safely waiting out his temper. 

The construction had continued throughout the day, tirelessly, buildings growing brick by brick, every scrap repurposed into part of the growing Cathedral. The bandits paid you no mind as you observed, working to meet some unspoken quota for the day, striving to please their Twin-Gods. 

One building, you noticed, had already been completed. It sat abandoned on the far side of the compound, fresh paint still dripping down the bricks-- entirely ignored, save for the occasional priest moving in and out. The bandits seemed to give the building a wide berth, if they did not avoid it entirely. 

Curiosity pulled at you, guiding you by the hand towards the distant building, and up onto the simple porch-- peering through the open doorway. If the outside of the building looked plain, the interior had paid it no mind. Thick, verdant greenery decorated every available surface, light shining in through spotless glass tiles suspended in the ceiling. Brilliantly blooming flowers, thin ropes of ivy crawling up the bricks, herbs fragrant in the air. Priests wandered methodically through the rows of plants, pruning and watering with care, completely absorbed in their tasks. And in the far corner, you saw a small shrub, sporting the  _ fiery  _ red berries you’d enjoyed this morning-- growing unattended. 

Hunger gnawed at your stomach, and almost instinctively, you slipped through the threshold of the greenhouse, lingering just a few steps inside the door. 

A priest noticed your presence, laying down the watering can in his hand, offering a warm smile. “Child, what brings you  _ here?”  _ He didn’t sound unwelcoming, merely… surprised. Something in his demeanor was inviting, comforting, and paternal _.  _

The other priests seemed to continue their work, mindless of you. 

Hesitantly, you moved further into the greenhouse-- pausing as a familiar  _ sweet  _ smell greeted your nose. It  _ grew  _ here, you realized. But the brief flash of Troy in your mind brought a pang of unwelcome longing. Something about the memory of last night flooded you with mild guilt. The comforting feeling from this morning seemed to return in a tidal wave, and its intensity made you weak at the knees. “I have to go…” you offered to the priest, apologetic. 

He merely shook his head. “You are free to return,” he replied, returning to the plants, and continuing to water the tiny saplings. 

Locating Troy’s room was just as difficult the second time, but after a few wrong turns, you found yourself in the familiar hallway, a set of dishes set outside the door. The remnants of your shared breakfast brought the smallest smile to your face, and again confident, you reached for the doorknob-- pausing as the gentle strum of guitar gave way for another noise. 

A  _ moan.  _

Heat flooded your cheeks as you pulled back from the door, bile rising in your throat.  _ Oh.  _ The possibility of him pleasuring  _ himself  _ crossed your mind, and briefly reassured you, until a second sound followed the first. 

“Oh,  _ Troy!”  _

_ Definitely  _ a woman that time. A flurry of emotions surged through you, withdrawing from the door, and staring at the blackened wood as though you could see through to the other side. Where could you go? To Tyreen’s room? Back to the priests? Hot, angry tears stung at the corners of your eyes, and you resigned yourself to sitting beside the door, trying to ignore the sounds that emerged. 

Finally, the door opened. 

Aurelia was still securing her coat around her torso when she noticed you. A smile twitched at her lips, seeing the shine of tears in your eyes. She finished the final fasten, pulling the door closed behind her, and turning to look down at you. Her snow-white hair was tousled, lipstick smeared, hickeys providing a trail of complicity up the column of her throat. It was  _ obvious  _ what had happened between the two of them. “You’re his little girlfriend,  _ hm?” _ She asked, head tilted in mock-curiosity. “How  _ humiliating  _ for you.” She bent down, using one perfectly-manicured hand to grip your chin and force you to meet her eyes. “Let this be a reminder,  _ little girl,”  _ her voice was sharp, devoid of any sympathy, and dripping with satisfaction. “No matter what agreement you  _ think  _ you have with him… If I wanted him, I could have him. You can have my  _ scraps.”  _

You pulled your chin out of her  _ cold  _ grasp, rubbing the skin she’d touched, eyes dropped to the floor as tears threatened to re-emerge. You could smell the sweet smoke, the brush of his cologne on her clothes, and it  _ sickened  _ you. So,  _ this  _ was the ex-girlfriend.  _ What a catch.  _ Still, you were resolute to keep your expression stony until the soft click of her heeled boots disappeared down the hall, getting to unsteady feet and wiping your eyes.  _ Save your tears. He doesn’t deserve them.  _


	9. Garden of Eden

It was a few hours before you mustered the resolve to return to Troy’s room. You entered quietly, a little after nightfall, laying your leather jacket across the arm of his throne. You could feel his eyes on you, and feel the mounting tension in the room, but made no effort to alleviate this. _Let him be pissed._ You weren’t going to rise to his bait. 

“I have to go to Eden 6 tomorrow,” he offered, unclear on _why_ exactly you were angry, but recognizing the telltale signs in your expression. “Ty and I won’t be back until late-- so you’ll be on your own.” 

“Okay,” you picked up the shirt you’d neatly tucked away this morning, slipping into your night-clothes without a glance in his direction. 

If he suspected your anger before, your quiet, somber demeanor confirmed it. “I asked for more of those berries you liked. The priest said you visited the greenhouse today,” another attempt at a truce, however unlikely it was. “Did you like it?”

You gave a small noise of affirmation, slipping off your shoes, and climbing into the bed, turning your back to him as you buried your face in the pillows. _Everything smelled like him._ A tremor of anger rolled through you before you could contain it, and your grip on the blankets tightened imperceptibly. You could _see_ her here, wrapped up in his arms, _moaning_ his name. You could feel her chill in the air, lingering like an unwelcome draft. And you could see _him,_ spurned away by your rejection-- you _pushed_ him into her arms, didn’t you? 

And tomorrow, he was going to visit her again. 

You _hated_ how you cared. Hated the jealousy that rose at the thought, hated that little voice in your head that begged him not to go. It was _her,_ you rationalized. She was _bad_ for him, and you were only looking out for his wellbeing. Why _else_ would you care? 

You slept fitfully that night, uncomfortable for _every_ second you laid awake in _his_ bed, in _his_ shirt, hearing _his_ soft breathing. It was _just_ a transaction. A few weeks more, and you’d never see him again. The thought gave you brief fleeting comfort, and you held to it tightly. 

Breakfast was no better. Two huge, overflowing bowls of your red berries, and Troy’s expectant smile, still colored with sleep, fading as he registered your expression, returning to his own breakfast with dejection. 

The words were on your lips. _Don’t go. I don’t want you to go._ But instead, you said: “have fun,” mustering as cheerful a tone as you could manage. 

Troy cleared the dishes, leaving them outside in the hall, and dressed quickly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead just offered a small nod, a weak smile, and left. _Idiot. Stupid idiot pretending nothing’s wrong._ He scolded himself on the short walk to Tyreen’s room, mind spinning with what could have _possibly_ reduced you to this _defeated_ state. You’d been acting strangely after the technical ride, sure, but this was _worse_ than that. Had the priests dosed you? Had Tyreen said something? Had Aurelia? 

And that was another complication. The random hook-up with Aurelia. She’d been lying in wait, like a predator, waiting for him when he came back to his room. She was already undressed, smoking one of his joints. From there… it was as easy as breathing. He was angry with you, and she was angry with him, and the sex was _good._

So, why did he feel guilty?

Your relationship _wasn’t_ real, and he’d been more than discrete. It was just _one_ hook-up, in the heat of the moment, and he _now_ recognized the risk it posed. He’d be less impulsive in the future, he resolved, at least until this whole thing had blown over. 

It took a few minutes after his departure before you finally dragged yourself from bed, looking at the clothes Tyreen had laid out with contempt, instead approaching the near-abandoned duffel bag shoved in the corner, and unzipping it. Just as you’d left it, there were two perfect pieces of casual clothing. Soft blue denim jeans, and a comfortable zip-up sweatshirt. Over Troy’s borrowed tee-shirt, you were _almost_ comfortable again. 

It was no surprise that you found your way back to the greenhouse, left to your own devices, it seemed to call to you with a promise of serenity. The paint had dried, a pristine _white_ against the sand of the Pandoran desert. It seemed to shimmer slightly under the hot morning sun, a mirage of comfort. 

The priest was waiting on the porch, holding a cup between his hands, watching you approach with a pleasant expression. “I told Father Troy that I was hoping you’d return,” he called out to you, turning to walk inside the greenhouse, effortlessly _confident_ that you would follow. 

And to your surprise, you did. Feet seemed to move of their own volition, climbing the few squat steps and crossing the threshold again. The interior had changed. No more priests tended the plants, the tables had been pushed against the walls, clearing a large space in the center of the floor. A knitted rug had been thrown over the stone floor, a beautiful tapestry of blues and greys and purples, outlining a mountainous valley near the ocean, flowers growing along the shore. 

The priest was sitting on the edge of the rug, still holding his cup in the cradle of his lap, looking perfectly at ease. “They’re in the Cathedral,” he answered your silent question, “and I thought I would be better served here. You look like you’re in need of guidance,” he sipped from his cup, produced a small tea-pot, and a second cup, offering it to you. “Tea?” 

You mirrored his position on the rug, taking the offered cup, and watching as he poured the tea. It was a muted pink color, free of any floating leaves, warm to the touch. You lifted the edge of the cup to your nose, searching for that elusively sweet smell you’d come to associate with Troy. It was _there,_ you were certain. He had a habit of coming to mind when he was least wanted. But as you stewed over the unique herbal scent, you couldn’t detect it. Instead, it smelled like warming spices, cinnamon and cloves, sweetened with something common, like sugar. 

The priest watched your examination with a curious expression. “It's just tea,” he assured, lifting his own to his lips. “It’s delicious.” He refilled his own cup. “If you _want_ something else--”

You gingerly sipped the tea, mulling over the answer to his question. “The tea is fine,” you concluded, lowering the cup to your lap, “thank you.” You were already too emotionally volatile to experiment with whatever odds and ends they grew here. “How did you know I need guidance?”

The priest smiled warmly, shifting slightly on the rug. “I am a man of faith, Y/N, it’s my occupation to shephard lost souls to a greater purpose. And I can see no greater purpose than yours,” he sipped his tea again, “our God-King needs you.” 

You felt a dull ache deep in your chest. “How can you be sure?”

He lifted a brow. “Of your purpose? Or of my faith?”

“Both.” 

He laid down his cup, standing and approaching one of the plants, plucking three small leaves from its branches and collecting them lovingly in his hand. “Pandora is a loveless place,” he began, returning to his place on the edge of the rug, and holding out his hand to you. “The people have _always_ been exploited, in one way or another, reduced to fighting for scraps while those overhead profit off of our misery.” 

You glanced at the leaves in his palm, no larger than a sprig of mint, and up to his expectant expression. 

He smiled again. “I will not force you to partake. But if you wish to see as I see, to see the _reason_ for my faith, these will guide your eyes.” 

Entranced, you took the leaves, placing one on your tongue and considering the taste. It was sharp, acrid, smoky-- _unpleasant._ You grimaced, looking down at the other two with hesitation. A little herbal distraction never hurt anyone, and the taste faded quickly. You ground the second two leaves between your teeth, swallowing what remained, and washing it down with a sip of your tea. 

Satisfied, the priest continued: “I am one of a privileged few to hear the story of the Twin-Gods from their own lips-- when we only numbered near a few dozen. The most devout were blessed with a private audience, and told the miracle of their birth.” His fingers brushed the intricate design of the rug again, drawing your attention. 

The colors seemed to leak off the tapestry, spinning, swirling ever wider in a puddle on the floor. The flowers seemed to jostle in the breeze, the salt of the sea irritated your skin, and you heard the laughter of children just out of sight. A warm feeling settled over your ears, and you studied the small details, amazed. 

“Sirens are rare,” the priest’s eyes shined with love and devotion, “but _twin_ sirens?” 

You felt the wonder in his voice, pure and unadulterated, pulse hammering just below your skin. It _must_ have been a miracle, you agreed, inching forward with anticipation. 

“They were born to a cruel father, who sought to keep their powers for himself, _locked away_ on a desolate planet-- _kept_ from their destinies, the _people_ they sought to liberate-- all to himself,” his voice shook with righteous anger, but he contained it quickly. “He could not _jail_ them for long. They knew the universe cried out for her saviors, her _conquerors,_ her _Gods._ They could feel it in each breath, each beat of their hearts, each _step.”_

A swirl of violet seemed to write and twist on the rug, making itself known amidst the smoke of grey woven rocks. 

“They escaped on the eve of their eighteenth birthday, leaving their father to tend to his cage, and came to Pandora.” 

You could see the inky purple outlines of two figures, vaguely in the shape of Troy and Tyreen. They disappeared into the grey foothills, obscured from your view. 

“They found their disciples, their followers, _liberated_ the people who’ve spent their entire lives beneath a corporate boot-heel, and gave them a _family,_ a purpose, a cause.” 

A droplet of water landed into the center of the tapestry, disturbing the image-- and you finally noticed the hot tears streaming down your cheeks. 

The priest edged forward on the rug, touching your cheek and guiding your eyes up to his, gentle and kind. “It’s alright,” he assured tenderly, “don’t hide your tears.” His hands cradled your jaw. “We do all we can for our Twin-Gods,” he began, wiping your tears away with his thumbs, “and we love them wholeheartedly. But it is _your_ destiny to be _loved_ by Father Troy. Fate would not have brought you here otherwise.” 

You sniffled. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

He again met your eyes. “Then he will learn to. But you _cannot_ abandon him, my child.” He removed his touch from you, returning to his place on the mat. “He is yours to love.” 

You didn’t remember standing, and leaving the greenhouse, but you remembered looking up at the moon. The silvery-white light seemed to dance with the sand beneath your toes _(when had you removed your shoes?)_ and the soft strum of guitar drifted past your ears. You didn’t remember deciding to return to Troy’s room, but found yourself at the door. You didn’t remember knocking, but you remember him opening the door-- eyes widened in drowsy alarm. 

You don’t remember the words that left his lips, or entering his room-- but you remember the way he touched your shoulder, concern clear in his expression. _Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours-- it's practically dawn! Why are you crying?_

You could feel a wave of sparks shoot through you, like you’d touched a live wire. Heat pooled in your stomach as you gripped him by the front of that soft band-tee shirt, and pulled him towards you, a violent collision of hands and lips. 

The kiss was searing hot, tasted _sweet,_ and you could finally _see_ him. You could see the swirling tapestry weaved into his skin, the crimson glow of his Siren tattoos, feel the thrumming of his heart beneath your touch. You could _see_ him. And you _believed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAHHHHHHHH! A kiss??????  
> Excitement aside, thank you for reading! We're halfway through the story now, and I have some exciting twists and turns planned down the road, so stick with me! As always, thank you for the sweet comments, and thank all of you who've left me kudos! I really enjoy this fic, and I'd love to hear what you think! <3


	10. Gates of Hell

Tyreen was waiting for him when he arrived. She was wrapped up in her signature leather and denim, hair brushed just so, and tense with anticipation. She read his expression, and snickered, as easily as she always had. “Uh oh,” she teased,  _ “trouble in paradise?”  _

He rolled his eyes, as he always did, crossing his arms and waiting impatiently by the door. “We have to go,” he changed the subject dismissively, “we’re already late.” 

It was the gravity in his voice that brought an end to Tyreen’s teasing. “We’re  _ gods,  _ Troy,” she reminded, gently, “we’re  _ never  _ late.” But her eyes searched his insistently, curiously, trying to detect the source of his foul mood. He wasn’t  _ like  _ this, not with  _ her.  _ “Aurelia was here  _ yesterday,  _ this meeting’s just a formality.” It was a subtle prod, but effective enough to ruffle his feathers. 

_ “I don’t want to talk about Aurelia.”  _ He warned, eyes flashing with irritation. “Can we just  _ go  _ already?” 

Tyreen snorted, unbothered by the threat in his tone. “Whatever,  _ Don Juan,”  _ and with a flash of brilliant orange light, they disappeared. 

~~~

Jakobs Manor had certainly seen better days. The lawn was overgrown, flowers untended, rot crawling up the wooden exterior of the house.  _ Fitting,  _ Troy thought, as a patch of mud grabbed hold of his boot,  _ that Aurelia would end up in a shit-hole like this.  _

Tyreen was more optimistic, peering up at the facade of the house. “If the Vault Thieves  _ do  _ show up,” she theorized, “a big enough explosion could bring the whole house down around them.” As a floor beam creaked beneath her weight, she seemed to lose her stride. “Or around  _ us,”  _ she added, aside to Troy. 

Despite his foul mood, he did manage a chuckle as they crossed the threshold into the house. Aurelia had  _ apparently  _ insisted that they enter through the front parlor, to see the improvements she’d made to Jakobs Manor in her short tenure as its executor. 

As they passed a  _ giant  _ hanging portrait of the aforementioned ally, Troy again rolled his eyes.  _ What an improvement.  _ Softly to Tyreen, he voiced his thoughts: “is this a threat to us?” his human fingers traced the gilded frame of the painting, cool to the touch. After Katagawa crashed and burned, they’d learned to be a little more… cautious in emboldening their allies. Lending followers was one thing, lending  _ authority  _ was another. 

His sister wrinkled her nose, offering a shake of her head, but nothing more. 

“My  _ esteemed  _ guests,” a voice called out from above, at the head of a set of stairs. “I  _ do  _ hope the traffic wasn’t as abhorrent as the company!” Aurelia descended from the balcony with short, calculated steps. She’d forgone her usual fur-lined coat in favor of more  _ fashionable  _ loungewear, a feather-lined boudoir robe, over a slim-fitting cocktail dress, of her traditional pale blue color. 

Troy  _ hated  _ the way seeing her turned him on. This was  _ intentional.  _ It had to be. After so long together, she knew his tastes for the finer things in her wardrobe, and knew just what would produce a reaction in him. He felt his whole body coil up, tense and tight as she took her sweet time to reach them-- giving him more than ample time to  _ consider his mistakes.  _

He’d already surrendered the  _ loving boyfriend  _ shit, confessed the true nature of your relationship to her, what more could she want from him? 

Tyreen seemed more amused by the display. “War’s been treating you well? Any trouble with the Vault Thieves?” 

Aurelia shrugged, reaching the bottom of the landing, and approaching the twins, opening her arms for an embrace. “No trouble at all, my Queen,” she pulled Tyreen close, her eyes flicking over to Troy, raking up the bare plain of his chest. “They’re pests,  _ nothing  _ worth your time. I’m sorry you even had to make the trip.” Retracting her hands, she turned her attention to Troy. “And your little  _ pet? _ Has she been adjusting to her new  _ role?” _

Troy did not open up for her embrace, expression stony. “She’s fine, thanks.” One hook-up was a mistake… a second was unforgivable. Despite the tugging in his stomach, he  _ could  _ resist her. But  _ fuck  _ was it tempting. That animal impulse, reminding him of your distant behavior this morning.  _ She wants you,  _ it purred in his ear.  _ She wants you, and she’ll do anything to have you. She’ll worship you. Let her have you.  _

Aurelia seemed disturbed by his brisk dismissal, but nursed her pride by inviting them into the study. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, the walls lined with priceless and irreplaceable books. And Troy, with a cringe of disgust, noticed that Aurelia was  _ burning  _ them as kindling. Taking a seat on the newly upholstered armchair, Troy watched the paper disintegrate into small floating bits of ash, disappearing up the chimney. 

Tyreen was quick to take the lead, discussing the movement of the Vault Thieves, and what they could do to protect Jakobs Manor from the obviously incoming siege. “We’ll send a few hundred followers,” she pledged, “to patrol the grounds and keep an eye out.” It was nothing, a fraction of their devotees, but enough to form a solid protection. And, Troy noted, enough attention to keep Aurelia happy. Whatever skag-shit she spewed about how  _ easy  _ her job was, she’d still called them here for a meeting, requisitioned their aid, and craved their favor. 

When Tyreen got a buzz from her ECHO (something or other to do with the Cathedral construction), she stepped out into the hall to shout at the bandit on the other end, leaving the  _ happy  _ ex-couple alone in the suddenly drafty study. 

“Troy,” Aurelia seized hold of the opportunity, “you  _ can’t  _ be serious about this. What have I done to deserve your scorn? You had  _ just  _ as much fun as I did yesterday.” She was still clearly wounded by his rejection, using  _ every  _ opportunity to tempt him, and bring him closer. 

“I  _ can’t--”  _ Troy sighed, hearing his sister arguing with the foreman, and lowering his voice. “It was a mistake,” he amended, gently, “I was pissed, you were pissed, and we made a  _ mistake.”  _ Even now, he had to fight the instinct to comfort her, move closer, hold her in his arms. “I have a girlfriend, and if word gets out that I’m--”

_ “Faking?”  _ Aurelia’s expression twisted, lips set in a fine line. “Fabricating a love story to get a rise out of me?” Accusation was sharpened to a point, irritable to be discussing the subject  _ again.  _ “You said the same thing yesterday, Troy-- and we still found a way around it.” 

“Am I on trial?” He snapped, rolling his eyes as his temper flashed. “It doesn’t  _ matter  _ if it's real or not, my followers  _ believe  _ it is!” He took a short, sharp breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. “And I’m not  _ doing  _ this to get a rise out of you, I’m not that  _ fucking  _ selfish.” There it was, that perfect drum-roll to  _ angry, jealous sex.  _ Any other time,  _ every  _ other time-- it worked like clockwork. They’d fight, kiss, and disappear to try one of the  _ dozen  _ bedrooms and lose their minds a little. It was  _ perfect.  _ Easy as breathing. 

He beat back the impulse.  _ Not this time.  _

Aurelia seemed to detect the change in him, pressing harder: “you  _ know  _ she’s nothing, Troy.  _ I’m  _ the only one who could  _ ever  _ match you. You’re going to push too hard, and she’ll shatter. You  _ always  _ ruin girls like her. You  _ always  _ come back to me.” 

He offered a wry grin. “I hope you’re right,” he answered, looking again into the fire, “but I’m not taking the chance.” He stood, ignoring her shouts of protest behind him. Ty had finished her call, and was barely through the door, before Troy was pulling on her arm. “Let’s go,” he urged, slamming the door behind him,  _ “now.”  _

~~~

The sun was dipping below the horizon when they returned, the last streaks of sunlight painting the sky with streaks of red and orange. Tyreen had insisted on overseeing the final steps of construction for the Cathedral, the last few bricks laid in place under her supervision. Troy had, regretfully, agreed to attend. 

Bandits kept their distance, but continued to wail and worship-- offering their  _ lives  _ for the Twin Gods, if they could be so lucky to surrender them. A small crowd had gathered around the crown jewel of the new Cathedral, a wide coliseum-- filled to the brim with Calypso iconography. They parted for Troy and Tyreen, particularly bold ones reaching out to touch them as they passed, watching with bated breaths as they took in the large thrones, the high-vaulted arches, the daunting statues of their likeness. 

Tyreen was grinning, clapping her hands with muted excitement, surveying their new place of operations. “You’ve really outdone yourselves!” She applauded the lead constructors, before seating herself in her throne, looking down over the crowd, and Troy, with satisfaction. “What do you think, Troy? Don’t they deserve a treat?”

Troy had to briefly shake himself out of a thought-induced stupor, pasting that familiar smirk on for the dozens of eyes now focused on him. “For sure,” he agreed, seating himself in the throne beside her, and mirroring her regality. “Maybe a game for tomorrow? Let them fight for us?”

There was a murmur of excitement, blood-sport was, after all, a favored activity among the devotees--  _ especially  _ when given the chance to impress the twins. 

With a glance between them, it was decided. They could call it a game, play up the fanfare, but the intention was clear. It was a sacrifice, a blood-letting to prepare them for the incoming battle with the Vault Thieves. The followers  _ loved  _ a good game, and being slain by Troy or Tyreen was considered an  _ honor _ of the highest regard. 

Not to mention, Troy reflected, it would give him an opportunity to show off, knowing you were watching. Was it a little conceited? Perhaps. He called over a bandit and arranged for the throne in his room to be placed beside his larger throne in the arena. You’d have a place of honor beside him, and be close enough to grab hold of his hand if the gore frightened you. 

The thought made him smile, and subconsciously, he drifted closer towards his bedroom. You’d be waiting for him, even if you were angry with him, and he could sweep away your moodiness with the promise of a surprise tomorrow!

But, he found, you were  _ not  _ waiting for him when he returned. Your bag was dragged to the center of the floor, items clearly removed, and the bed was cold. Terror shot through him, as he quickly surveyed the room, searching for any sign of you. You wouldn’t just-- you  _ couldn’t  _ just leave, right? You would have left a note, or an angry ECHO call, or waited to confront him in person, you wouldn’t just  _ leave!  _

Wary of alerting his sister (and inwardly proving Aurelia right), Troy kept his search quiet. He searched the kitchens, asked a few of the priestesses if they’d seen you, innocuously checked Ty’s room-- abruptly leaving when it was clear she hadn’t seen you. He’d just about given up hope when he finally spoke with a priestess who gave him a direct answer. She’d seen you leaving this morning, dressed in ordinary clothing, looking distraught. 

So that settled it. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Troy returned to his bedroom, kicking aside your bag and sitting on the edge of the bed. Why did he feel like this? So… guilty and dirty and  _ wrong?  _ Why did he hear Aurelia’s voice in his head, taunting him, reminding him that he’d ruined everything? What was that dull aching in his chest, like a knife twisting deep below the layers of muscle and sinew? 

He slogged through his evening routine, gently detaching his mechanic arm, slipping into comfortable night-clothes, smoked, and curled into bed-- a bed that felt much too big without you, suddenly. 

He’d only been asleep for a few hours, when a knocking at the door stirred him. He blinked, half-convinced he was imagining it, and rubbed at his eyes, staring at the blackened door-- waiting for the repetition to confirm his suspicion. When he had it, he was upright before he fully processed it, bounding towards the door and throwing it open-- finding you there. 

You were wearing his shirt, sweatshirt tied around your waist, staring up at him with glassy, teary eyes. He ushered you inside, closing the door, and grabbing your shoulder. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours-- it's practically dawn!” And then, more softly:  _ “Why are you crying?” _

You didn’t respond, seeming to waver as he spoke to you. Unsteady, swaying from foot to foot, surging forward to grab hold of his shirt. Alarm bells sounded in his head, trying to steady you with one arm, and gently direct you towards the bed. But with sudden and surprising strength, you instead pulled  _ him  _ closer, pressing your lips to his in a searing kiss. 

Troy was  _ stunned.  _ He could feel the thrumming of his heart, taste something sweet on your breath, feel the  _ warmth  _ of your skin beneath his fingers. It was  _ intoxicating…  _ but something didn’t sit right. Your erratic behavior, the strange disappearance-- it weighed on him as he tried to enjoy your offered kiss. He tried to ignore it, leaning in to indulge, and pull you closer-- but stopped as your hand reached for his belt. Growling with frustration, he carefully pushed you away.  _ This wasn’t you.  _ Whatever you had in your system, it was fucking with your head, and the thought killed his sex drive.  _ “Stop,” _ he ordered, stepping back out of your reach as you grabbed for him again. 

You stared back at him with hopeless defiance. “Why don’t you want me?” 

Troy felt his head swimming, trying to make sense of your sudden moral change amidst an already  _ lousy  _ day. “I  _ do,” _ he justified, again stepping out of your reach, “but you’re…  _ drunk  _ and I--” he was confused, concerned, turned on, and everything in between. 

“I’m  _ not  _ drunk,” you refuted, with surprising clarity. “I had  _ tea.”  _

Suddenly, everything clicked, and Troy’s hopeless confusion gave way for an unimpressed frown. The priests had a habit of  _ fixing  _ things with their cocktail of medications, especially in “non-believers”. After your run-in with the green priests, it was only natural that you’d return to them, vulnerable and ready for guidance. “Okay,” he offered diplomatically, “we’re going to go to bed-- and we are going to  _ talk  _ about this in the morning.”

The promise of being close to Troy seemed to calm you enough to let him wrangle you out of your pants (though not in the way he wanted), and tuck you beneath the sheets. You waited patiently for Troy to join you, still wrapped up in the chemical high. Troy couldn’t help himself, and allowed you to get as close as you liked, fighting the smile that rose. In a way, it was a fucked up kind of perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole chapter from Troy's perspective??? What do we think? Thank you for reading, commenting, and kudos-ing! I love to hear from you guys! <3


	11. Embers

Your “talk” was thankfully postponed until after breakfast, Troy insisting you get some food in your stomach to help offset the comedown. He abstained from his usual diet of flaky pastries, encouraging you to eat more by setting an example, phase-locking your little red berries, and skillfully tossing them in the air, before catching them in his mouth. 

Eventually though, the food disappeared, and you were left mulling over the peaceful silence, debating which of you would be the one to break it. 

Troy, as it turns out, took the mature path. “So, you got stoned,” he concluded, humor coloring his tone, “and a _little_ clingy.” To his surprise, though he did not voice it, he didn’t mind the resultant cuddling. “What do we do about it now?”

The kiss came to mind, and you swallowed, eyes drawn to the now empty plates, _embarrassed_ and baffled by your own behavior. “I mean… kissing would help sell the relationship, right?” You offered, optimistically, unable to keep the disappointment from sinking into your voice. 

“Why are you so determined to hate me?” Troy asked, his casual tone of voice a stark difference from the _invasive_ nature of his questioning. “To pretend that every moment of this is _pure_ agony for you?” Taking the fragility of a newly blossoming relationship, Troy crushed it in one mechanized hand, frustrated with the _slow_ and steady pace of the conversation-- and determined to cut to the marrow of the issue. “You liked the joyride, and you _clearly_ like me, so why--”

“I don’t like _this!”_ You waved a hand in his direction, accepting the gauntlet he’d thrown down, and standing your ground. “This cocky, _cruel_ attitude where you treat everyone like they’re beneath you!” Accepting the priest’s explanation that the bandits were more than willing to sacrifice themselves-- and _even_ accepting the fact that Pandora was a kill or be killed hellhole-- something in the back of your mind _resisted_ each time you thought of Troy in a romantic light. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

But Troy wasn’t one to let sleeping dogs lie. _“I’m a God!_ I’m going to be the most powerful being in the galaxy, and they _worship_ me! You want me to _refuse_ it? Act like I don’t _deserve_ it?”

“You _don’t_ deserve it,” you snarled back, goaded by his hostile tone, _“everything_ you have, you’ve _stolen._ Looted from the _countless_ bodies you’ve left behind in your wake. They worship you because they think you’re going to _change_ things-- but you’re the exact same as _every other dictator_ Pandora’s _ever_ had.” Hands trembling, you dug your nails into the flesh of your thighs to keep still. “You’re _using_ them-- and if they _knew_ that-- you’d be the _only_ one singing your praises.” 

Troy was silent, indignant, too furious to speak. He was staring at you, brows furrowed in _hatred,_ anguish, and… a glimmer of shame. He _knew._ He _had_ to know. The thought lurking in the back of his mind each time one of the COV pledged themselves to his cause-- _they’re praying for a better future, and we’re killing them for it._

You could feel the weight on your chest, tight and unrelenting. “So? What’s it going to be?” You demanded, _desperately lunging_ for that slight understanding in his eyes. 

Troy’s shoulders hunched forward, expression severe. “You’re never going to convince Tyreen.” He offered, quietly, almost _nervous_ that someone would hear. “You _don’t_ understand.” An idea crossed his mind, brewed from shame, stupidity, and fear. “Let me _show_ you what it’s like-- let me _help_ you understand.” He stood from the bed, offered his human hand, and pulled you closer, fingers laced with yours. 

He waited patiently for you to dress yourself, pulling on a pair of distressed denim jeans and throwing on his coat, before guiding you down the _gloomy_ corridor and outside into the Cathedral proper. 

You could hear the cheering of the crowds the second the sun touched your face-- bandits praising the God-Twins, and cheering for their eventual triumph over the Vault Thieves. They sounded so _vibrant_ and alive. So… unafraid. 

Troy smiled back at you, guiding you in through an indicated side-entrance, flanked by two meaty-looking bandits who eyed you with curiosity as you passed. The dull roar of the cheering was deafening as you followed Troy through the darkened corridor, and through a worn violet curtain. 

The sudden exposure to intense stage lights blinded you, and your grip on Troy’s hand tightened as the thought of losing your balance crossed your mind, and filled you with minute dread. Momentary relief replaced it as Troy squeezed your hand, and pulled you along behind him. When you’d managed to blink away the lingering spots in your vision though, the relief evaporated as you took in your surroundings. 

A _massive_ elevated pedestal, with two _imposing_ thrones, surrounded by _hundreds_ of screaming bandits, and _dozens_ of cameras floating around the arena-- with a _terrifying_ looking pit below, with a large _cage_ full of raving and screaming devotees calling Troy’s name. 

You glanced back to Troy, no doubt showing the full extent of your _horror,_ and seeing Tyreen already seated in her throne with an expectant smile on her face. 

Troy’s expression matched it, as he leaned down to offer: “you’re on camera, darling. It’s just a game,” his elongated robotic arm moving to stiffly cradle your waist, _“relax.”_ The first smidge of doubt entered his mind, as he surveyed the crowd, the arena, his sister-- _something_ was off, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. The _cage_ was… new. He took his seat on his vacant throne, and leaned over in her direction. “Ty! It’s a blood feud, right? A little fighting, a little--” he trailed off, waiting for her to reassure him, in the precious few seconds you were out of earshot, being seated in your own (significantly less glamorous) throne. 

Tyreen’s expression was unreadable. “Yeah. Something like that.” 

Her passive tone set off alarm-bells in his mind. “Listen, maybe we _shouldn’t--”_ the memory of their previous conversation crossed his mind, a suggestion he’d made out of hand, and the ringing in his ears intensified. 

But soon (too soon) you were back beside him, positioned oh-so-close to his throne, and again surveying the arena with a pull in your gut. “What’s the game?” You asked, nearly shouting to be heard above the din of the cheering. “Like a cage-match?”

 _I don’t know._ “Something like that!” he replied, trying to ease your nerves with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He reached for your hand again, inclining his head towards the camera, and shooting a small wink in your direction. 

The thrum of heavy-metal music burst from damaged speakers at the base of the God Twins’ pedestal, and a floating monitor revealed a live-feed of Mouthpiece from somewhere high above, his skull-mask flooding with fluorescent light. “Scream for the God Twins!” He ordered, greeted by an equal response, the heavy thud of the music seeming to harmonize with the sound. “Today we’re live-screaming from the recently completed Cathedral of the Twin-Gods, blessed by the presence of the Calypsos themselves!” 

The monitor flipped to a view of the stage, and Troy and Tyreen seemed to brighten up immediately, offering waves, smirks, and blown kisses, relaxing as the camera panned away. 

“Opening the Great Vault takes contributions of all kinds, great and small, and there’s no _greater contribution_ than giving your life for the cause! Join the Children of the Vault, and build a better Pandora!” 

As sponsorships and propaganda rolled across the screen, Troy had retreated into his throne, furiously typing on his ECHO. His expression was intense, and worry creased his brow. He ignored the questioning look you gave him, lifting the phone to his ear. “Shut it down. I don’t care what she said, _do it now!”_

Tyreen seemed to pick up on the sudden shift of energy, her own expression betraying her irritation as she waved a single gloved hand, and the cameras returned to displaying a live-feed of the stage. “Thank you, Mouthpiece! Today, we’re honoring some of our Eridium tier followers with a special event,” the words rolled across a teleprompter tucked just off-screen, but seemed natural and flawless coming from her lips, “organized by my brother! Troy, do you want to tell them about today’s game?” 

Troy seemed to falter for a second, looking up to the floating words and blanching. “Ty--”

She rolled her eyes, snarling under her breath. “Then I’ll take over! Today is all for a new member of our family, and someone who I’m sure you’ve seen all across the ECHOnet,” a bright overhead light flicked on, “my new _sister,_ Y/N!” 

The black-glass of the camera lens stared unblinkingly in your direction, mechanical engine whirring as it drew closer. You felt like all the air had been pressed out of your lungs. _Sister?_ Wasn’t this supposed to be a _temporary_ arrangement? Still, you forced a small, sheepish smile, leaning towards Troy and playing the part you were assigned. 

Fortunately, the camera lost interest in you quickly, swiveling towards Tyreen after only a few seconds. “Troy, do you want to tell them about the game _now?”_

Troy seemed to be losing his cool, but made an effort to read the floating words with grace. “Today we’re playing a game called _Fight or Flight!_ Our followers have the chance to _show us_ their devotion, fighting against some of Pandora’s most _vicious_ wildlife. Mouthpiece? Open the cages.” 

The loud and oppressive grinding of metal on metal seemed to fight the growing purr of anticipation that filled the arena, fanaticism and bloodlust combined into a terrifying frenzy. 

You were still stunned by Tyreen’s dedication, and the roar of your own pulse in your ears. The soft, irrational side of your mind tried to deny the obvious:  _ they volunteered. They wanted to fight, they knew what they were signing up for. Troy is doing what his followers want.  _ But the  _ doubt  _ lingered. Building a “better” Pandora… that no-one would survive to see. 

Troy seemed to sense the unease turning over in your mind, reaching for your hand. “Look,” he encouraged, gesturing to the crowd,  _ “that’s  _ why we do this. Violence… blood… that’s all these people know. It’s the only language they understand. Ty and I can’t change that.” 

An animalistic roar trembled through the arena, from behind a heavy metal door on the far side of the Cathedral. There was a loud  _ slam,  _ and then  _ another.  _ The door finally flew open, and the beast came bounding out. The skag was as large as a house, easily twenty feet to the shoulder, and glowing with an intense  _ violet  _ hue. Eridium crystals grew along its spine, jutting up in sharp, jagged spikes, with a  _ full  _ set of predator’s teeth. It was  _ unnatural _ and unlike anything you’d ever seen before. 

The small assembly of fighters, close to ten, seemed to  _ finally  _ grasp the danger they were in. But the cage, the only cover provided, had begun to retreat on a long chain towards the ceiling, dipping just out of reach as the beast appeared. 

Troy couldn’t hide the small burst of pride that flooded his chest, eyes locked on the fight, tilting his head in your direction. “I can anoint  _ skags  _ too,” he bragged, “unstoppable war dogs, imbued with Siren powers-- and  _ damn  _ hard to kill.” It took  _ weeks  _ to perfect the skill, and more than a few failed attempts before he’d finally had a successful trial. “Imagine a  _ planet  _ of those things. The Vault Thieves wouldn’t stand a chance.” 

_ “Troy,”  _ Tyreen butted in, her eyes drawn to the far corner of the arena. “That one’s  _ hiding.”  _ She pointed one finger towards the darkened corner, eyes narrowed in divine fury. “The skag can’t see him.” 

The skag was happily munching on one of the bandits, though injured, and taking a hail of gunfire from the surviving combatants, bloody red staining its purple coat, and dripping down its chin. It was pointedly  _ not  _ aware of the fanatic quivering in the corner of the arena, covered in bits of gore, his weapon long-since abandoned. 

Troy’s brow furrowed, following her finger and assessing the situation. “Just Firehawk him,” he offered simply, unbothered, “put him back in the line of fire.” 

“Wait!” You interjected, horrified, “he doesn’t have a weapon, it’s not a fair fight!” You looked to Troy, expecting to find some of that same  _ understanding  _ from this morning, that  _ clarity _ , that  _ humanity.  _ And you found  _ none  _ of it in his eyes, only a bland confusion at your protests. 

Tyreen was irked by your protest, fingers suspended mid-air, tattoos aglow, looking to Troy as if waiting for his approval before pushing ahead. 

“It’s a  _ game,”  _ Troy explained carefully, as though enunciating each syllable. “Not a  _ fair  _ fight. He  _ volunteered  _ to sacrifice himself for  _ us,  _ he can’t  _ hide  _ because he changed his mind!” Shaking his head, he waved a hand at Tyreen. “Take him out.” 

She hesitated, in-thought, before pursing her lips and lowering her hand to her hip. “No,” she spoke, almost inaudible under the noise of the crowd, “she’s right, Troy. It’s  _ unfair  _ to throw him in without a weapon,” she waved a hand, summoning a priest and muttering something to him, before leaning back in her chair and relaxing. “They’ll handle it, Y/N. Don’t worry.” 

The priest returned, handing a small leather satchel to Tyreen, before disappearing behind the curtain. 

The God-Queen regained her regal posture, waving a hand, and summoning the cowering bandit in a burst of orange flame. “Why aren’t you fighting?” She demanded, her voice booming out across the speakers as the cameras twisted to get the shot.  _ “Don’t you love your God-Queen?”  _

In an instant, the macabre scene of gore faded to the background, the cheers hushed, and  _ every  _ eye in the area was focused on Tyreen, and the punishment she was sure to dole out. 

The bandit was weeping, trembling, unable to meet her eyes. No influence held him in place, nothing beyond the weight of her gaze, and yet, he wept. He was young, close to Troy’s age you guessed, and he kneeled at her feet, blubbering indecipherable apologies. “I’d do  _ anything  _ for you, Tyreen!”

Tyreen’s steely expression gave way for benevolence. She laid the satchel at her feet, and allowed him to retrieve it, leaning back in her chair. “You needed a weapon,  _ right?”  _

There was a brief flash of understanding that crossed his face before he disappeared in a puff of orange flame, and reappeared in the belly of the arena. 

It was only a few seconds before it was over. The beast had finished with the other combatants, waiting patiently like a dog for scraps, bounding forward on its massive limbs and descending on the final survivor. There was one perfect scream, before the man disappeared into its maw. 

You felt sick. Instant, inescapable nausea rumbling through your stomach as you pulled away from Troy, bile rising in your throat.  _ How could he just watch while Tyreen condemned that man to death? How could he justify it with that warm, inviting smile?  _

The beast seemed to sway on its feet, content to lick its wounds and return to its cage-- before letting out a howl of pain as an explosion sounded from within. Bits of bloodied skag coated the arena like shrapnel, hunks of eridium flying like dangerous projectiles, leaving a mess where the creature once stood. 

Tyreen wiped the blood from her face, her expression twisted into a grin.  _ “Holy shit!”  _ She looked out across the arena, kicking a small chunk of skag over the edge of the stage. “That was  _ insane!”  _

But Troy was more concerned with the look you were giving him, coated in blood and gore, like something out of a horror movie, completely still as the red droplets beaded down your face. 

You stared back at him, expression completely and utterly vacant, too terrified to move or make a sound. It felt like every muscle in your body had suddenly turned to stone, the smell of explosives and blood suffocating you, and the visceral display made your stomach turn. “You’re fucking  _ sick,  _ Troy.” Your voice trembled as you spoke the words, too angry to see straight. 

“I didn’t--” 

“Don’t you  _ dare!  _ This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To have them fear you?” You wiped the blood out of your eyes, but your vision still seemed to glow red. “This is the  _ better  _ Pandora you’re preaching?” 

Troy’s expression grew colder, defensive walls rising, barbed with the unexpected betrayal of a newfound romance. “Cut the microphones, Mouthpiece,” he called out, eyes dropping to the camera hovering just above the edge of the stage.  _ “This,”  _ he gestured out towards the gruesome display, “is what you signed up for. I didn’t put  _ you  _ in the arena, did I? Ty did what you asked, didn’t she? Why are you always so  _ dramatic?”  _

“I don’t want  _ this, _ Troy!” You snapped back, blinking hard to clear the sudden blur from your vision. “This isn’t normal! You’re a  _ monster!” _

The word seemed to settle between you like a cinder-block, and there was a prolonged moment of silence. 

“Maybe I was better off with Aurelia,” he bit back, though slower, and a little bit resigned,  _ “she  _ understood that I only do what I  _ have  _ to. That every loss gets us that much closer to our goal. I didn’t have to explain to her what having  _ power  _ meant.” 

You crossed your arms, the mention of his ex-girlfriend seeming only to ignite the latent flame beneath your feet. “What’s stopping you? A pretend relationship? It certainly didn’t stop you from  _ screwing  _ her the last time she visited.” The memory seemed to burn, and it only incited you further. “Fuck you, and your money.  _ I quit.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, commenting, and kudos-ing! Sorry for the temporary hiatus, I needed a little more time to polish this chapter! I know this chapter was a long one, and a pretty heavy one, but I felt bad cutting it off in the middle of the scene to extend the length of the story. Please let me know what you think! Will Troy and Reader recover their bond?


	12. Homestead

There was no fighting— no shouting, threatening, or coercing. Troy looked into your eyes, and with a stubborn resignation, merely stood and walked away. The bandits continued to shout and scream, oblivious to the implosion only a few yards away. Tyreen was silent, her gaze sharp and imposing, lingering like a draft even as you moved beyond her field of view. 

The walk back to the fortress was lonesome, as the raving of the zealots faded into the background, all courtyards empty-- all work left in various states of abandonment, tools of construction left unattended as their owners attended the games. 

The blackened spikes on Troy’s door seemed more  _ threatening  _ now, a barbed warning of just how  _ unwelcome  _ you were. But the low thrum of guitar strings, and the sound of heavy footfalls confirmed just where the Calypso had retreated to lick his wounds. 

You tried to steel your nerves. It wasn’t lost on you that Troy  _ still  _ posed a physical threat, and his calm reaction in the arena was no indication of how he would respond behind closed doors,  _ without  _ the camera’s eye. 

You elected  _ not  _ to knock, slipping through the door, and leaving it ajar behind you-- surprised to find him methodically packing your things, shoulders tensed as the door squeaked behind you. “You’re  _ packing  _ for me?” 

Troy shrugged, but did not turn to face you. “You want to leave. I don’t need your shit here.” There was something in his voice, something not so carefully guarded, something that  _ hurt  _ to hear-- but it was masked by the crushing neutrality of his expression. “Ty will probably rip your guts out if we ask her to Firehawk you… so I’m driving. Let’s go.” He hefted the worn duffle bag over his robotic arm, and brusquely walked past you, out into the corridor. 

Troy’s technical was neatly parked a short distance from the Cathedral, the matte black paint seeming to sparkle in the waning sunlight. It had been recently cleaned, you assumed, and buffed with a coat of expensive looking wax. The poorly installed seatbelt was still in place, and a touch of hesitation pulled at your chest. It was wrong to say he hadn’t made efforts to make you more comfortable, and perhaps even  _ safer  _ here. And his  _ downtrodden  _ and defeated attitude was annoyingly effective at pulling your heartstrings. You had  _ never  _ seen him like this. Quiet, pensive, but lacking the fiery anger you’d expected. 

He helped you into the technical, before climbing into the driver’s seat and flicking on the ignition. In a matter of seconds, the Cathedral disappeared in the rear-view mirror, the heady purr of the engines filling the gap left by the stony silence. 

It was only  _ then  _ that you remembered that you had  _ no  _ place to go. You’d given the studio to Viv, and now, had burned your bridge with Troy. You had the money from your shows, but it was  _ far  _ from enough-- even with the generous bump Troy had gifted you-- to find you a new place. Nearly  _ everything  _ had been invested back into paying bills, and the remaining sum… well, you wouldn’t be surprised if Vivian had rightly taken her share of it. 

What option did you have? 

“Troy,” you spoke loudly enough to be heard over the engines, “wait.” 

To your surprise, and inward delight, the technical slowed to a crawl, his eyes flicking in your direction. 

“I know where I want you to take me,” you took his ECHO from the dashboard, and with a small sigh, input a new set of coordinates. “There.” 

He glanced at the screen, brow furrowing in confusion. “That’s in the middle of nowhere. Don’t you want to go back to your studio?” He squinted at the destination, a glint of recognition rustling in his mind. It wasn’t far from the Cathedral, a few hundred miles, but it was  _ hours  _ from the nearest town,  _ deep  _ in the recesses of the desert. 

Your chest felt tight. Unable to explain the poisonous brew of emotions bubbling over in your chest, you offered a weak nod instead. “That’s the right place,” you assured, looking out the window. 

It was a few hours before the daunting visage of your childhood home came into view. The old farmhouse, damaged and repaired more times than you could count, the neat cattle fencing that surrounded the property,  _ everything  _ was exactly as you remembered. 

Troy idled near the gap in the fencing, taking in the view with skepticism.  _ “This  _ is the right place?” It was difficult to imagine  _ you  _ coming from a place like this… but the familiarity still poked at the back of his mind. “Who lives here?”

You pulled your bag over your shoulder, using what little muscle memory you had to dismount the technical and land (somewhat) safely on the ground. “My parents,” you answered. You could only hope they would be  _ happy  _ to see their baby girl, and not toss you out on your ass again. Your last visit had ended with  _ quite  _ the firefight. 

_ Something  _ was still bothering him about this whole situation. Maybe it was the quiet, or the hunch of your shoulders, but before he could fully consider his actions, he was climbing out of the vehicle, and hurrying to catch up with you. “I’ll walk you up,” he explained, taking the bag from your hands, and walking alongside you. 

“I don’t think you’ll be welcome,” you mused, but made no effort to stop him, slipping through the gap in the fencing, “or asked to stay for dinner.” It was only a matter of time before you asked the question that still lingered in your mind. “Why are you being so… nice? Aren’t you upset?” 

Troy thought for a moment. “We’ll definitely have to do some damage control, but you didn’t  _ ruin  _ anything. We’re still opening the Great Vault, we’re still going to kill the Vault Thieves… you just won’t be a part of it.” The old porch creaked under his weight, and he leaned against the doorframe. “I can’t say I’m not  _ disappointed,”  _ he gave a small shrug, “but Ty was convinced from the beginning that you were the wrong girl, so it’s not like we didn’t prepare for you to bail.” 

In just a second of apathy, your anger returned.  _ “Great,”  _ you responded, “I’m glad I was just as  _ disappointing  _ as you expected.” You knocked, trying the knob when you got no response, the irritating click of the lock greeting your effort. “You know, if you  _ wanted  _ someone who’d blindly follow your orders, and let you  _ cheat  _ on her-- you could’ve bought a  _ sex doll.” _ You took your bag back from his hands, and stomped around the edge of the house, trying the windows in the hopes of finding one that was unlocked, and low-enough for you to climb through. 

Troy rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m  _ stunned  _ it didn’t work out,” he followed you, watching you grow a little angrier with each failed attempt, “considering you think I’m a monster-- and you  _ hate  _ that you’re in love with me.” 

You spun around, indignant. “I am  _ not  _ in love with you!” The green priest’s words trickled in through the back of your mind, and furiously, you swatted them away. “You’re the biggest, most insufferable  _ ass  _ in all six galaxies--”

“And you  _ like  _ me,” Troy interrupted, with a wry grin.  _ “That’s  _ what you’re so angry about, really.  _ I  _ haven’t changed.  _ You  _ did.” He crossed his arms, seeming to glow with pride as you blustered. “You  _ knew  _ who I was. You  _ knew  _ what I did to get here--  _ how  _ I got all those people to follow me--  _ how  _ I got these powers.” He reached up to a window, and crushed the lock in his mechanical hand, tossing the hunk of metal aside.  _ “That’s  _ why you’re running away. You’re  _ scared  _ that you’ll end up like me-- or worse-- that you’ll stop  _ hating  _ me one day.” 

How the hell could you respond to that? Argue, and egg him on, or give in-- and face a much more frightening realization. “I don’t want to talk about this any more,” you replied instead, suffering the sting of defeat as you reached for the now  _ open  _ window. “Weren’t you the one who insisted this was all for show?” 

Troy considered this for a moment, hoisting you high enough to slip through the window.  _ “You  _ kissed me, Y/N,” he reminded, “and  _ you  _ were the one who quit.” He waited until you were safely inside, before returning to the porch, and waiting for the telltale squeak of the rusting lock. Thankfully, if only for the sake of continuing the argument, you let him inside. 

No-one was home, you soon discovered. Belongings were cleared out, only a few canned goods left in the cupboards, beds stripped of sheets. There was a note pinned to the wall, however, and Troy gave it a cursory glance as he passed. 

_ Raid Notice _

_ COV Passing Through the Devil’s Razor next week! _

So  _ that  _ was why it looked familiar! This little farmhouse was  _ far  _ from a desirable target, but just a few miles away, a bandit clan had set up a haven resisting the COV. Naturally, they’d made themselves a target, and the subject of next week’s raid. It was impressive that a group of civilians had detected the plan-- but Troy didn’t dwell on it. They were out of harm’s way, hopefully, and bringing it up would only start another fight. 

You were already in the process of unpacking what meager belongings you’d brought with you, laying down the threadbare sheets across the guest room mattress. 

Troy followed you into the small room, and spent a few moments examining the family photos nailed to the wall. “You’re not in any of these,” he observed, searching for your face-- or at least something like it-- among the small array. 

You’d suspected as much, but it still stung. “They cut me out,” you answered quietly, tucking the sheets over the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t exactly the favorite child.” You sat on the edge of the bed, doing your best to busy yourself in unpacking, and  _ not  _ look at the giant in the corner of the room. 

Troy, much to your dismay, joined you on the bed. “We’re a lot more alike than you think,” he offered, softly. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it's true. I grew up in a place like this,” he waved a hand around the dusty interior. “And I  _ know  _ about shitty parents, believe me. I’m sure they wanted to forget me too.” 

You scoffed. “Is this supposed to be comforting?” 

He ignored the jab, and continued. “I grew up on Nekrotafeyo,” he informed, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, “Ty was the only other kid on the _ planet.  _ You can imagine how that went.” Sensing your confusion, he again offered a small shrug. “It’s…  _ far _ from everything. Deserted, except for my family. My parents… they were the first people to discover it.” 

You remembered the priest’s version of the story, and were sorely tempted to interject, but ultimately elected to stay quiet, and let him finish. 

“My mom passed when we were kids… and my dad blamed Ty for the whole thing.  _ She  _ was the one who wanted to leave, and I don’t blame her for it. Before we really knew what happened, we were stars. That kind of power, that influence-- it’s a high you can’t buy.” He reflected, briefly, on just how stupid this whole thing was. Why was he pouring out his heart to you? Being more honest than he’d ever been in his life? Filled with a sudden burst of embarrassment, he made a weak attempt at backpedaling. “But that’s business, I guess. And I wouldn’t trade it for  _ anything.”  _

“Why do  _ you  _ do  _ that?”  _ You asked, parroting the question he’d asked you at breakfast. “You get so close to  _ feeling  _ something, and you just  _ distance  _ yourself.” You were filled with an almost hopeless exasperation, fighting off your feelings, and attempting to hold on to your anger-- but finding only  _ pity  _ in between. “Things don’t  _ have  _ to be this way! If  _ anyone  _ has the power to change what you’re doing-- it’s  _ you!”  _ You stood, furious with yourself, and the tender part of your heart that wanted to  _ change  _ him. 

He shook his head, wistfully amused. “And what do you think would happen to me  _ if  _ I tried to change things? Told the bandits to stop killing? Told Tyreen to stop the sacrifices? If I told everyone to lay down their weapons, and make peace?” 

“But you  _ know  _ you  _ could!”  _

“I  _ can’t!”  _ Troy snapped back, losing the whimsy as you pushed back. “Ty would  _ kill  _ me, or if I’m  _ extremely  _ fucking lucky, throw me out. I might as  _ well  _ be dead at that point-- there’s nowhere in the universe I could hide where  _ they  _ wouldn’t find me, and finish what she started.” 

There was a heavy pause, the dregs of the argument still lingering in the air. “What about Nekrotafeyo?” You asked, finally. “Would they follow you there?” 

His silence answered your question. 

“So there  _ is  _ an option,” you pressed, gently, for his sake. 

“You’re  _ exhausting,”  _ he replied, rubbing his temple with his human fingers, like this whole exercise was  _ painful  _ for him. “I have no way to get there.”

“You’re  _ rich,”  _ you countered, happy to see the color return to his face. 

_ “You  _ could snitch on me,” he posed, lifting a brow. 

“I wouldn’t.”

“But you  _ could,”  _ he emphasized, “and I don’t know if I can trust you.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was arguing for argument’s sake. “What can I do to convince you that I’m trustworthy?” 

Troy paused, watching the way the dim electric lights bathed you in a flickering halo of golden light, the slight twinkle in your eyes, and the traitorous smile that twisted your lips. “You could come with me.”

You bit your lip, heart soaring as you tried to meter your expectations. “Troy--”

“Not for the camera-- not for  _ anyone  _ but us. We could do it… for  _ real  _ this time. You  _ know  _ it could work-- you know it  _ would  _ work!” His expression seemed to flood with hope, and he reached for your hand, thrilled when you let him take it in his. “No bullshit, no games. I  _ want  _ you.” 

“What about Tyreen?” You asked, feeling your resolve weakening under your feet. He  _ wanted  _ to change, was  _ willing  _ even. And more importantly… you  _ liked  _ him. Who said you couldn’t be a little selfish from time to time?

“I’ll tell her the truth,” he smiled again, using your joined hands to pull you closer to him, and the bed. “We had a long drive, a conversation, and now we have an understanding. I think as long as you stay out of her way, she’ll be  _ thrilled  _ to ignore you.” Tyreen was never one to get involved in his relationship drama, however much she monetized it, she was far more focused on her own schemes in the long run. 

…  _ God,  _ he was so persuasive.

“So?” He draped your hand on his shoulder, his hands moving to hold your hips, nestled neatly between his knees. “What do you think?” 

Fuck it. 

You leaned down and closed the short distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a sweet and airless kiss. One kiss turned into two, and two into three, and before either of you could catch your breath-- clothes were coming off. In one, fantastic moment, the rule you’d held close to your heart for three years disappeared in a puff of smoke.  _ No hook-ups.  _

But as he held you close in his arms, moaned your name, and kissed you like you were the last woman in all six galaxies… it was hard to care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH! Did anyone see that coming? Hope you enjoyed the newest chapter! Six more to go! As always, comments and kudos are encouraged! I love reading what you guys have to say!! <3


	13. Carnivora

Troy couldn’t help but drag his feet the next morning. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as he woke, the threadbare cotton warm against his skin. The technical seemed suddenly imposing, a blackened warning of the  _ hell  _ he’d have to slog through when they returned to the Cathedral. Even  _ Troy  _ had something to fear, and he wasn’t nearly as  _ fragile  _ and vulnerable as you. 

The accompanying ECHO messages were  _ almost  _ expected. They began with almost half-concern, questions about where he was, and when he’d be returning. Then, as the time-stamps grew later, they grew a little more angry, a little more threatening. The final message read simply:  _ You gullible moron, you’re still with her, aren’t you? _

Troy sighed quietly, rubbing his temples, composing a response with the essence of ‘fuck off, it’s none of your business,’ but hesitating on the trigger. He was already in the shit, why try to apologize? If she was really concerned, wouldn’t she have brought him back to the Cathedral? She was saving face, like always. The thought brought a scowl to his face. “Fuck her,” he announced suddenly, hearing the quiet padding of your feet across the aged hardwood floor. 

Your arms wound around his waist, skimming the texts, and trying to swallow the glimmer of fear that rose. “We have to go back, right?” You asked, with disappointment lurking in your voice. The homestead was worn, and only a temporary home, but it felt  _ safer  _ than whatever awaited you at the Cathedral. “She’ll just come and get us if we don’t.” 

Troy melted at the feeling of your embrace, feeling his anger reside, human hand moving to envelop yours and stowing the ECHO in his pocket. He could hear the fear in your voice, the anxiety, and moreover,  _ he  _ wanted more time alone with you. “No,” he answered simply, turning to meet your eyes, and offering the slightest smile, “we’re already late, why waste the day getting screamed at?” 

Your eyes widened, and you tried not to let your relief show. “We’re playing hooky?” 

He pulled you closer, his hands lingering on your hips, and offering a lopsided smirk. “Tell me, Y/N, have you heard of a little festival called Carnivora?”

_ Of course you’d heard of Carnivora.  _ It was infamous among the non-bandit denizens of Pandora as a roving parade of death, filled with grotesque displays of violence and machinery, and chock-full of bandits who’d rip out your spleen for giving them a sideways glance. Needless to say, it was hard to get excited by the idea of  _ attending  _ Carnivora. You gave Troy an unsure glance, biting your lip. “Troy, after the thing with the skag, and the bandits I--”

He shook his head fervently, almost emphatically so. “No, no-- it’s  _ nothing  _ like that! You’ve been listening to too much of the Crimson Traitors propaganda,” he hefted your bag over his metallic shoulder, walking out to the technical, suddenly anxious to get on with the day. “I mean, yes, there is  _ some  _ of that, but that’s Pandora,” he tossed the duffel in the back, “but-- it’s a lot more tame than you think. There’s music, and food, and--” he cast a glance over his shoulder, “a few herbal distractions… if you’re interested.” And with decision, he tossed his ECHO in the backseat, relegating Tyreen’s threats to the floor. 

You trailed behind, still skeptical. “So, it’s just a... music festival?” 

Troy lingered by the passenger side door, offering his hand. “I promise. It’s fun. No Tyreen, no more gore than normal, just a  _ fun  _ day.” His expression was hopeful, joyful even. 

It was hard to resist. You took his hand in yours, allowing him to help you into the passenger seat, and buckling the safety belt. “Fine, we can go.” You muttered with dramatic resignation. 

Troy grinned, climbing into his seat and starting the engine, and taking off in a cloud of dust. 

The homestead was left as a sight in the rearview mirror, and the further you got from it, the better you felt. It felt good to throw caution to the wind, for once, and let yourself enjoy something. In for a penny, in for a pound, and you’d thrown your lot in with Troy Calypso. And for the life of you, you couldn’t regret it. 

Carnivora, as it turned out, was much more impressive up close. Stories of welded metal, ramps and landings connecting miles of desert, and creating a playground of entertainment for those old enough to enjoy it. Rock music boomed through dust-covered speakers, and for once, you recognized the song. 

You glanced over to Troy, to find him silently mouthing along to the lyrics, eyes sparkling with glee. He met your gaze, and beamed at you, stepping down from the vehicle, and offering his hand. 

Instinctually, you took it, and found your footing on level ground again. “This is it?” You asked, looking for the signs of bloodshed, violence or depravity. To your surprise… it  _ did  _ appear to be a perfectly normal music festival. Many of the bandits had forgone their bloodstained leather and denim, and had instead opted for simple and comfortable clothing, in a dizzying variety of colors. It was almost… normal, or as normal as Pandora could get. 

Troy seemed to glow with pride, guiding you through the gate into the festival grounds proper. There were street vendors, live music, and even  _ carnival games.  _ Troy indulged your every whim without hesitation, and was eager to introduce you to every square inch of what Carnivora had to offer. He won you a stuffed jabber, in a delightfully ugly shade of hot pink, which he now carried under his arm, though he grumbled about it initially. 

You were happily munching on a small paper bag of a sweet kettle popcorn, yet another unfamiliar treat Troy had shared with you. Each piece was still slightly sticky, and a tasty combination of sweet and salty. You shared a few pieces with Troy (reluctantly, worn down by his whining), pausing as you caught something in your peripherals. 

A young bandit woman was pointing in Troy’s direction, trying to be subtle about it, but failing miserably. She was whispering to her friend, grabbing the other girl by the arm, and dragging her over. 

A nauseous feeling rose in your stomach. Another of Troy’s “girlfriends?” Your experience with Aurelia had made you more than wary of getting between him and his fangirls. Pulling your hand from Troy’s, you frowned, crossed your arms, and looking down at the dirt. 

Troy’s expression was clueless, and concerned. “What’s the issue?” 

The girls drew closer, one holding an ECHO device in her free hand. “Hi-- sorry! Can we get a picture?” 

You tried not to roll your eyes, examining the two, and finding yourself comparing their features to your own. You scolded yourself the moment that vain thought entered your mind.  _ Stop being an ass. He’s a celebrity, he has fans.  _

Troy seemed to finally connect the dots, and offered a small smile to the two girls. “Sure, um-- babe, do you mind?”

The girl was quick to interject. “Oh-- no, I meant could you take a picture of us with Y/N?” She gave you a shy wave, and a brilliant smile. “We’ve been fans of your live-shows for years, but we never thought we’d meet you in person!” 

Your expression was one of pure shock. “You want a picture with  _ me?”  _ Your jealousy had gone up in smoke, left with only a nagging feeling of guilt, and pleasant surprise. 

The girl nodded. “Can you-- um--” she offered her ECHO to Troy. 

He blinked, clearly just as surprised, but certainly not displeased by the turn of events. “Of course,” he took the device, waiting for the girls to wrap their arms around you, and lining up the perfect shot. It took him a moment to awkwardly adjust the stuffed jabber under his arm, but he managed. The click of the shutter went off, and he returned the device to the girl on your left. 

The girl glanced at the photo, and grinned. “Thank you! It was great to meet you, Y/N! Enjoy Carnivora!” She pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, giggling as she hurried off with her friend. 

Troy returned to your side, retaking your hand, and giving you a sideways glance. “I don’t know if I should be jealous or turned on?” He nudged you teasingly with his elbow. “That was sweet.” 

You were still processing the whole thing. “It was a first, for sure,” you agreed, “I’ve never been… recognized before.” More surprising, they hadn’t given Troy the time of day, or even seemed to acknowledge his comparatively galactic fame. He was… invisible here. But if you were excited by the fact, Troy was  _ thrilled.  _

With a newfound confidence, he took you to the more populated parts of the festival: the live music being his main destination. You quickly found that Troy gravitated towards the heady sounds of rock, and he seemed to sniff out talent with the grace of a bloodhound. 

By the end of the day, you’d settled on a field of sun bleached grass, listening to the comparatively gentle sounds of bluegrass-- acoustic guitar a perfect lullaby to wind down a chaotic… and fun day. Your head had settled on Troy’s lap, letting him weave a handful of daisies into your hair, and looking fondly at the setting sun. 

“Did you have fun?” He asked, quietly, to avoid startling you. 

You smiled. “I did,” you answered softly, eyes meeting his again. He’d tanned, you noticed, with a little concern. You’d ask the green priests for some aloe tomorrow, he’d likely start peeling without it. “Did you?” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It was my idea, of course I had fun,” he jabbed, humor clear in his tone. “Although I can’t say I liked being your backpack,” he cast a baneful glance towards the jabber, a few feet away. 

You snorted, nudging the thing with your foot. “You won it, Troy, it’s  _ your  _ monkey,” you countered. 

This debate continued on the walk back to the technical, Troy continuing to insist that he’d won it for you, and you insisting that  _ he’d  _ picked it out. You climbed into the passenger seat, and patiently waited for him. 

Troy stuffed the pink jabber in the back, and with some reluctance, retrieved his ECHO, scrolling through the messages. He paled instantly, an expression of sickly surprise taking over his face, and suddenly feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. 

You noticed the change in his expression as he climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and flooring it. “What’s wrong?”

Troy’s expression was watery. “Aurelia’s  _ dead.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this chapter, and I hope you do too! Thank you for the continued kudos and comments! They really mean the world to me, and encourage me to keep writing this fic! Please, let me know what you think!


	14. Consequence

The ride back to the Cathedral was quiet and tense, you were walking on eggshells, unsure of what to say to Troy. On one hand, Aurelia was a cruel and ruthless woman-- and his ex-girlfriend, but on the other, he  _ must have  _ cared for her at some point, right? Rejoicing in her death felt immature and ill-timed, but praising her felt insincere. 

The sudden news seemed to cast a shadow over your wonderful day together, dampening the romantic mood, and wedging a divide between the two of you. 

Troy, well, Troy was still absorbing the information his sister had sent in a chain of furious text messages. He’d been away for what? Twenty hours? And in that time, they’d lost an ally, lost a Vault Key, and-- he learned, the Vault Thieves had killed the Vault Monster on Eden-6. It was a terrible turn of events, a crisis of massive proportions, and where was Troy? Dicking around with his new girlfriend at a music festival. He was in  _ so much trouble.  _

And Aurelia?  _ Fuck.  _ He didn’t have time to reflect on it. She meant something to him, once. She was a posturing, manipulative, and egotistical  _ bitch--  _ but at one point… he’d loved her too. They’d shared a bed together, talked about their plans for the future, the galaxy he’d build with his sister…

Troy cursed, feeling the unfamiliar sting of tears in his eyes, and momentarily taking his hands off the wheel to wipe them away. The technical swerved off the road, crushing rubble in its path, and shaking as it zoomed over uneven terrain. 

With a scream, you reached for the wheel, desperately pulling it to the right, and trying to keep the car on the road. “Troy!” 

He batted your hands away and retook control of the wheel.  _ “I got it!”  _ He snapped, casting a sharp glance in your direction. He didn’t catch the expression that crossed your face, or the way you suddenly looked out the window. He didn’t want to see it. His breathing was ragged, and despite his every effort-- he was  _ hurting.  _

Thankfully, you made it back to the Cathedral in one piece, and Troy stiffly helped you down, before storming off with a sudden determination. His shoulders were squared, and his expression was hostile as he threw open the doors in a burst of violet Siren energy. 

You trailed behind, anxiously, bearing witness to his warpath as he snarled at each passing bandit, and destroyed things around him in a burst of purple kinetic power. 

Tyreen was in the throne room, with a few priests who  _ immediately  _ took their leave when they saw the expression on Troy’s face. 

You silently wished you could go with them, entering a few seconds after Troy, and suddenly realizing that you’d locked yourself in the lions’ cage. 

Tyreen’s expression was almost as frightening as Troy’s lip curling into a snarl as her twin entered the room. “You  _ fucking  _ idiot!” She disappeared in a burst of orange flame, reappearing just in front of Troy, and taking a furious swing at him-- which thankfully whiffed past him. “You ruined  _ everything!”  _ As she stumbled to regain her footing, she finally caught sight of you, hiding behind Troy like a small child. Her eyes ignited with flame.  _ “And you!” _

Troy tried to grab hold of his sister, but found only sparks in his hands as she disappeared from his view. Quickly turning, he found Tyreen with her hand wrapped around your throat, holding you a few precious inches off of the ground, fingers poised with intention to strangle you, tattoos glowing a violent, and sickly red. 

Tyreen’s eyes were crazed, manic, and full of  _ so much anger.  _ “You did this! What  _ are  _ you? A spy? A fucking  _ Vault Thief?”  _ The points of her nails dug into the flesh of your throat, breaking the skin and producing tiny, ruby-red, droplets of blood. 

“Tyreen,  _ stop!”  _ Troy commanded, grabbing her shoulder, and trying to pull her away. “Stop, you’re going to  _ kill  _ her!” He couldn’t hide the panic in his voice. He couldn’t lose another one. He couldn’t lose  _ you.  _

“She killed Aurelia! She’s  _ one of them,  _ Troy!” 

You could feel the intense pressure, closing off the airways to your lungs, and leaving you gasping for fleeting breath-- fighting and struggling against her iron grasp, clawing uselessly at her hand. You felt your struggles start to weaken, a scarlet lens beginning to flood over your vision-- eyes locked on Tyreen’s as she flexed her  _ true  _ power. You couldn’t see Troy, couldn’t hear Troy-- you were going to die looking at Tyreen, her murderous expression the last thing you’d see. 

“She was with me!” Troy pleaded, still trying to wean his sister off of you, but not yet resorted to using violence. “I was with her every moment of the last two days-- she’s not one of them!” It was only when he saw Tyreen beginning to leech you that he intervened. “Tyreen,  _ stop!”  _

The pressure on your throat released, and you took greedy huffs of air, eyes closed as you felt the light-headedness take hold. But… as your thoughts returned, the weightless sensation was still present. A simple glance informed you that instead of a scarlet sheen, you were now surrounded in a bubble of violet. 

Troy held his hand aloft, eyes dancing between the two of you, ensuring you were alright, before glancing over to Tyreen. “I’m sorry,” he offered weakly, “but I can’t let you kill her.” 

Tyreen couldn’t struggle, couldn’t speak, but her fury was contained within her eyes, which were focused with hate and malice on her brother-- almost trembling within the globe of phase-locked energy. 

Troy carefully lowered your bubble to the ground, releasing you, and stepping forward-- concern clear in his expression. Bruises were already beginning to form around your throat-- you’d be lucky if she hadn’t damaged your windpipe-- but you were alive, and that was what mattered. Giving you a nod, and ushering you behind him, he carefully lowered Tyreen to the floor, but did not release her. “Listen, Tyreen,” it felt odd to use her full name, like she was a dangerous animal, “she  _ didn’t  _ kill Aurelia. She’s a  _ human,  _ Ty, not like you or me. She gets queasy when I run over a skag-- and I don’t think she’s ever fired a gun. She’s  _ weak.  _ A  _ non-threat.”  _ He seemed to relax a little. “She’s not a threat to us. But I like her. And I want to keep her. So, can you…  _ chill the fuck out?”  _ He released her on some silent affirmation. 

Tyreen cast one final, hate-filled glance in your direction, before disappearing in a burst of flame. 

She was gone. 

Leaving Troy with you, who seemed just as upset with him. But, your injury meant that each word sounded wheezy and quiet-- almost unintelligible. The fight would have to wait until you returned from the green priests. They prescribed you some painkillers, and a topical salve to repair the bruises, before finally offering you a health-hypo. 

It was like a bandage, temporary wellness to keep you alive on the battlefield, but not a long-term solution. But, it meant you could speak, for the time being. You had the patience to wait until you returned to his bedroom, settling on his bed, and pulling your knees up your chest. “What the hell, Troy?” 

He gave you a look, it was hollow and beaten-down, he was  _ defeated.  _ “What do you want me to do?” He asked, shrugging off the heavy fur-coat, and letting it fall limply to the ground. “What should I have told her? You’re  _ strong?  _ That you’re a threat to her? That we planned to escape? I was trying to save your goddamn life,” his metal fist struck the surface of his wooden desktop, which snapped in half with a loud groan. He didn’t seem to notice, eyes lifted to the ceiling as he battled the torrent of thoughts rolling through his mind. “Should I not have?” 

“I’m not worried about  _ my  _ life!” You snapped, trying to ignore the way your voice strained to say the simple words. “I’m worried about  _ yours!  _ What happens when she finally loses her temper? When you open the Great Vault and doesn’t  _ need  _ you anymore? Troy, she’s going to kill  _ you!”  _

Troy could almost laugh, but the sound died before it reached his lips. “You should worry about yourself,” his tone had an edge, “and  _ stay out of it.”  _ The warning in his words was obvious, but most notably, he hadn’t denied anything you’d said. 

Your shoulders slumped forward, and you used a gentle hand to rub the bruises on your neck. “You’re the  _ only  _ one who could stop her,” you couldn’t meet his eyes, “or even  _ try  _ to. What happens when she decides that  _ you’re  _ a threat to her?” His stony silence gave you time to pick your words. “What if she decides she’s better off leeching you?” 

“She’s the only family I have left,” Troy’s voice was shaking, anger creeping in, barely contained behind a thin veil of diplomacy, “my  _ twin  _ sister. What gives you the  _ right  _ to pass judgement on her?” The words were soaked in acid. “You have no  _ idea  _ what we’ve been through. You have no  _ idea  _ what we’ve had to do to get here. You want me to give it up, and for what?” His lip curled. “You?”

You forced yourself not to take the words to heart, but it felt like he was specifically picking each to wound you. He twisted the knife with each added barb. You swallowed,  _ hard,  _ and toughened your neutral expression. “Would she do the same for you?” You asked, voice wavering as the hypo wore off. He didn’t scare you, not like Tyreen. He was a beast, but she was a  _ predator, a sadist, a killer.  _ If you could weather the storm of Troy’s words,  _ maybe  _ you could get through to him. 

He was silent for a moment, growing still. He lost the tremble in his limbs, and the creases in his forehead seemed to smooth. “I won’t turn my back on her,” he amended, resolutely. 

You frowned, but resolved to take up the topic when he wasn’t as heated. A night of rest would let him collect his thoughts. You watched him continue through his nighttime routine, removing his robotic arm, and finally climbing into bed with you, arm fitting snugly around your waist as he pulled you close. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was another opportunity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! We're getting close to the end! This whole fic has been a passion project for me, and it thrives on hearing from you! Please, leave me a comment, or some kudos, it encourages me to keep going, and lets me know I'm on the right track!


	15. Oasis

Things seemed to progress from bad to worse. Losing the Eden-6 vault made Tyreen desperate, and impulsive. She made bad call after bad call: kidnapping the Eridian scientist, trying to stage an ambush on Pandora, and even trying to plant spies on the Crimson Raiders’ ship. The Vault Thieves seemed unstoppable, destroying any obstacle in their path, and getting ever closer to derailing the twins’ plans. 

Troy was worn down, day in and day out, but he tried not to let it show. No-one wanted to say it, but they were losing this war. None of the bandits were bold enough to voice their concerns, and thus far, desertion was scarce. If those close to the Calypsos felt the impending doom, they’d resolved to go down with the ship. 

But Tyreen--

Troy was already tired of fighting with her. No matter what he did, she found something to criticize. If he agreed with her, disagreed with her, walked in front of her,  _ breathed  _ in her direction, it would end in a screaming match. And Tyreen, suffice to say, didn’t fight fair. 

“Remind me why I kept you alive all these years?” She snapped, giving him a sideways glance and narrowing her eyes. “Or do  _ you  _ need a reminder as to who  _ you’re  _ talking to?” 

Troy rolled his eyes. “Ty, it was a simple mistake! We can’t murder every follower who mixes up a one and zero-- half of them don’t know how to read anyways!” 

The cultist was quivering on the ground, looking between the two as they debated over his fate like lunch options on a menu. 

Tyreen gave a short huff of indignance, draining the cultist’s life with a short flash of red light. “Let him be an example. We don’t tolerate mistakes, Troy. Maybe  _ she’s  _ making you soft, if you’re stupid enough to think that these people are your friends.” 

He glanced down at the husk, which was already dissolving into a pile of fine black sand. 

“I’m opening the Great Vault-- with or without you. So, get with the program, or get the  _ fuck  _ out of my way.” She disappeared in another flash of light, leaving Troy to sift through the ashes. 

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t as… inconceivable as he thought. It almost sounded like a threat, but he tried to reassure himself. Tyreen said things in the heat of the moment, she always had! It was a stressful time for everyone, and when Tyreen felt powerless, she lashed out. Troy was just… the first person she could blame. 

But he knew he couldn’t protect you forever. Tyreen almost  _ always  _ managed to slip in something venomous about how you were “ruining” him, or clouding his judgement. At best, something insulting, and at worst… well, let’s just say Troy had reason to fear for your safety. 

The thoughts followed Troy into bed that evening. He was distracted, going through the motions, but stealing glances in your direction as he pretended to busy himself with his arm. 

Wearing his shirt, and humming the melody to his music-- nearly all of which you’d memorized by this point, you were meltingly beautiful. You’d healed over the past few weeks, light bruises the only indication of your near brush with death. You’d recovered marvelously, but Troy hadn’t. 

“Hey-- uh-- have you talked to that annoying friend of yours recently? What was her name? Val?” He tried to be casual, nearly cutting his finger on the mechanical arm and cursing under his breath. 

You deflated. “No, um, not really. We weren’t really on the best of terms when I left… so I haven’t reached out.” A simplification, obviously, but a small one. “Why?”

“Maybe you  _ should  _ reach out,” he offers, laying down the limb, and climbing into the bed beside you. “Get out of town for a weekend, enjoy some time off.” He sent what he hoped was a disarming smile in your direction. “Catch up, get away for a little bit?”

You saw through his ruse almost immediately. “Troy, what’s going on? Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

He sighed, turning to face you fully, his cheek pressed against the pillow. “The Great Vault. We’re close,  _ really  _ close, but if we  _ fail…  _ I don’t want you to get hurt if the Vault Thieves come for us.” Or, more realistically, Tyreen-- though he didn’t dare voice this thought. 

“If the Great Vault  _ is  _ Pandora, how will I be safer a few miles away? Won’t the whole planet like… explode?” You were touched by his concern, obviously, but you’d had this argument with him before. You wanted to leave  _ with  _ him, and drop the noble-hero skag-shit once and for all. 

“Then, maybe we should send you somewhere else,” he thought for a moment, frowning, “Eden-6? Promethea?” Seeing the look you gave him, he sighed. “It’s an  _ emergency  _ plan, I don’t  _ want  _ to die, Y/N.” Then, thoughtfully, he added: “but I think it’s better if  _ you  _ go.” 

You gave him a severe look. “This  _ isn’t  _ negotiable. We  _ talked  _ about this. Nekrotafeyo? The plan? We’re leaving  _ together,  _ right?” The night at the homestead seemed almost distant now, a sweet memory in a never-ending nightmare. 

Troy groaned with exasperation, massaging the bridge of his nose as he tried to push away the anger. “Why can’t you just  _ listen  _ to me? Don’t you know I want what’s best for you?” He felt like he was treading water, just barely able to keep his head above the water, and it  _ just kept rising.  _

“This isn’t about what’s best for me, if I wanted to protect myself, I’d already be long gone!” You’d fallen into this trap before, arguing with Troy was like navigating a minefield, it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt. “I stayed because I care about you,  _ dick!”  _

Troy was quiet for a moment, returning his gaze to the ceiling, faced with the realization that you  _ were  _ safer without him. It seemed so obvious, but in that moment, it stunned him. He had cosmic powers, the biggest army in all six galaxies, and  _ he  _ couldn’t protect you. Just being near him puts you in danger. “Just… for me, okay? I’ll get us a place on Promethea, and I’ll meet you there once the Great Vault is open. Then we leave together.” He glanced back at you, and offered a weak smile. “We’ll go to Nekrotafeyo,” he promised, an air of solemnity in his tone. 

Maybe you were tired of the fighting. Maybe you were tired of the constant threat of Tyreen looming over your head. Maybe the thought of finally getting off of godforsaken Pandora sounded heavenly. “Okay,” you answered, softly, “I’ll wait for you on Promethea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three more chapters!!! I hope you're strapped in, because things are about to pop off! As always, thank you for your sweet comments, and please continue to leave them-- along with kudos, it really helps me know if I'm on the right track! Thanks, and hope you enjoyed the newest chapter!


	16. Decay

Though it seemed like a small fish in a larger stream, your conversation with Troy did stir a desire to reach out to Viv. If Pandora  _ was  _ going to explode, or fissure, or erupt in flames, wasn’t it prudent to give her a heads-up? The thought followed you to bed that evening, and by morning, you’d resolved yourself. An ECHO message would suffice. A gentle suggestion to get out of town, and you would have done right by your friend. 

You must have drafted the message three times before you hit ‘send.’ Your ECHO was coated in a thin layer of building dust, as you realized, you hadn’t used it since your falling out with Viv. Chewing on your lip, you sent the message, and left the device facedown on Troy’s bed, pacing the small interior of his bedroom. 

**Is this still the right number?**

**Hey.**

**This is Y/N, btw.**

**The Calypsos are opening the Great Vault this weekend. You and Ed should get off-planet, I think it’s going to be messy.**

There, simple. 

The device was still for a moment, before buzzing once, and then two more times. 

_ Messy? What a pleasant way to put it.  _

_ Besides, we already knew. The COV jammed all off-planet travel, believe me, we tried. There’s a whole planet of people trying to get the hell out. Crimson Raiders are making a killing by offering refuge to any Pandoran who renounces COV ties.  _

_ Are you going to be okay? _

You thought for a moment. Troy had been able to guarantee  _ you  _ safe passage to Promethea, but he’d said nothing about your friends. The thought made your stomach sink. If the Destroyer was released… 

You tried to shake the thought. You couldn’t save everybody. You didn’t  _ know  _ everybody. But  _ everybody  _ didn’t save you from your family.  _ Everybody  _ didn’t give you a place to sleep, food to eat, a roof over your head. Viv wasn’t  _ everybody.  _

You glanced over to Troy’s desk, and the two sleek tickets he’d brought in this morning--  _ one way to Promethea.  _ You glanced back to your ECHO, and Viv’s name hovering at the top of the screen. You  _ could  _ save her. You  _ could  _ save Ed. 

You were typing a response before the thought reached your brain. 

**Can you meet me at the studio?**

There was the small matter of transportation, however. You  _ could  _ ask one of the bandits to give you a lift, but most were loyal to Tyreen, or at the very least, Troy-- and would  _ certainly  _ snitch on you given the opportunity. The Green Priests… well, frankly, you’d never seen one operate a technical, and given their history with herbal “remedies” -- you weren’t willing to experiment. 

Your eyes shifted to the small ring of keys sitting on the nightstand. The little baubles, some roughly hand-carved, others presumably tokens of affection from devotees, seemed to glint in the paltry sunlight. It wasn’t  _ betrayal _ , you reasoned, with worry in your gut. You were being altruistic, protecting people you cared about. Surely Troy could forgive you for one  _ small  _ thing? 

The keys jangled in your grasp as you snatched them, grabbing the tickets and slipping through the door with newfound grace. You were more willing to ask for forgiveness than permission. You’d be back before sunset… probably. He might not even notice that you were gone. 

Wishful thinking guided your steps out to the imposing black technical, guarded eyes watching the lazy stream of bandits who threaded in and out of the Cathedral.  _ You’d be back before he even noticed you were gone.  _ One last good deed… 

You scrambled up the side of the technical, slipping through the window, and settling firmly in the driver’s side. Nerves bubbled in your stomach, looking up towards the facade of the Cathedral. It was all part of the plan, you reminded yourself. Troy would handle Tyreen, and before you knew it, you’d be long gone. The engine purred to life, and you gripped the unfamiliar gear shift. You swallowed hard, before slamming on the accelerator, watching a cloud of dust rise from the squeal of the tires. 

A few bandits turned their heads, but from a distance and obscured by clouds of sand, you were indistinguishable. Shrugging and dismissing it as extraordinary, but not worthy of alarm, you slipped away under the midday sun. 

The studio was a few hours away, even in Troy’s superpowered technical, but your anxiety faded in just a few miles. The leather grip of the wheel in your hands, the smooth slide of the wheels on the sand, and the endless stretches of desert gave you more than ample time to come to terms with the strange turn your life had taken. Outside of the noise and chaos of the Cathedral, the loud roar of the engine was almost therapeutic. It seemed that you attracted trouble like a magnet, and found some unintended benefits along the way. 

Troy was another sweet reward for your bad decisions. He was chaotic, loud, and oftentimes dangerous, but you’d relished finding the sweeter side of his madness. You couldn’t change him, he was too far gone when you met him, but you could coax that sweetness to the surface. Without Pandora, without Tyreen-- he  _ could  _ be happy. Nekrotafeyo was a galaxy away, but just within reach. 

Your old studio seemed to emerge as part of the landscape, wooden boards jutting out of the eroding stone. The poorly shingled roof was a shiny blue sticker on the place you’d called home for the greater part of your adult life. But you couldn’t exactly call it home, could you? 

You lost the thought as you spotted Viv’s own vehicle, a mismatched and patched together technical with a cheap orange paint-job. You killed the engine, climbing down from the driver’s side, and eying the outside of the studio. A foreboding feeling sank into your stomach, but you pushed through it, climbing the worn wooden steps and knocking softly on the door. 

There was a quiet shuffle of steps on the other side of the door, and a mess of red-curls appeared. Viv examined you with a guarded expression, peering out behind you at the daunting black technical. “Is…  _ he  _ with you?” She asked carefully, gaze returning to you. 

You shook your head, mouth feeling suddenly dry. To see her treat you as a stranger… a threat, it hurt worse than a gunshot. “He doesn’t know I’m gone.” 

Her face softened, and she opened the door wider to let you inside, closing it behind you. 

The studio was, for the most part, exactly how you remembered it. Cheaply constructed shelves were teetering with neatly folded sheets, small crates of raunchy costumes, and a small array of toys arranged neatly by color and size. Viv’s couch was still in its usual place, her ECHO abandoned on one of the deflated cushions. Everything was the same, save for a small duffle bag, tucked neatly beside the door. 

Viv patiently waited for you to finish your inspection, delicately clearing her throat and crossing her arms expectantly. “Did  _ you  _ leave him?” She asked, withholding judgement to the best of her ability. “Or did he get bored of you?”

You blinked, turning to face her and trying to mask your uncertainty. “Neither. I just came to talk. We’re still…  _ I’m  _ staying with him.” You tried to strengthen the resolve in your tone, allowing an edge of defiant pride to slip into your voice. 

Her countenance didn’t change. “Then why are you here?” 

You shrugged off the small bag you’d slung over your shoulder, rifling for the thin paper tickets and presenting them to her. “I don’t want you and Eddie to get hurt. This should help you get off world for a bit. I can’t promise you it's any safer there… but it's a hell of a long way from Pandora.” 

She swallowed almost imperceptibly, glancing at the tickets, lip twitching in a gesture of stubbornness. “I already told you. No-one can get off planet-- a few tickets aren’t going to stop a hoard of psychos from boarding a space-ship and robbing us blind.” She dismissed this brusquely. 

You rolled your eyes, extending the tickets again, this time with more insistence. “It's a private shuttle,” and then, more begrudgingly, “it was meant for me and Troy.” Whether this strengthened or weakened your argument, you weren’t quite sure. “It’ll be safe for you, I promise.”

She looked down at the tickets with mild disbelief, not yet taking them. “And he’s…  _ giving  _ them to us? Why wouldn’t he just use them? Why would he give a rat’s ass about anyone on the planet he’s destroying?” 

Anger flickered in your stomach, and you pushed the small bundle into her hands. “He’s not giving them to you.  _ I am,”  _ your lips bunched into a tight line, and you gave a short huff, “because _ I  _ care about you. He doesn’t know I’m here, he doesn’t know I’m giving them to you-- because  _ I  _ want to protect you.” You withdrew before she could return them to your hand. “Maybe it’s because I’m  _ stupid  _ enough to still care about you, or maybe it’s to clear my guilty conscience, but they’re  _ yours. _ If you don’t want them-- you can  _ burn  _ them, but it's your only chance to get off Pandora before the COV opens the Great Vault.”

Viv looked over the details on each ticket, silent for a moment as she processed your words. She looked up to your face, and her eyes were dewy with tears. In two small bounds, her arms were around your neck, and she was sniffling in your ear. “Oh,  _ Y/N!” _

The embrace startled you, but you were quick to return the hug, soaking in the warm and familiar feeling of being in her arms. She’d held you like this when you’d left your parents’ farm, after your first show-- she was your  _ family.  _

And suddenly the dam broke. Tears streamed from your eyes, and you squeezed her tightly, burying your face in the shoulder of her threadbare red sweater, and weeping. 

It was more than a few moments before you composed yourselves, sitting on the dusty old couch, and staring at the cracks in the floor. 

Viv was the first to speak. “What’s going to happen to you?”

You played with a loose thread on your distressed jeans. “I don’t know,” you answered plainly, “Troy’s going to try to protect me, but if Tyreen leeches the Destroyer…” you trailed off, a small frown forming at the thought. “But I stand a better chance of surviving than you do out here. Maybe she’ll let us go once she gets what she wants.” 

Neither of you seemed to put much stock into the idea. 

“I’m going to stay with Troy,” you answered finally, shifting on the cushions until you found another comfortable position. “Whatever happens-- I’m going to stay with Troy.” You gave her a small grin. “And who knows, we might all end up on Promethea for Mercenary's Day!”

Viv let a small laugh at this, but the somber mood remained. 

You were acutely aware of the pounding of the clock, the elapsing time until Troy would notice your departure, and the hours long drive ahead of you. You didn’t have much time. 

Viv knew it too, and the silence hung in the air. “This could be the last time I see you,” she murmured quietly, almost afraid you would hear. “I love you, Y/N. You’re like a sister to me.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. I was angry, and impulsive, and it was  _ so  _ much money, and I--”

She hushed you with a movement of her hand. “But you love him?” She finished, with a weak and tragic smile. At your lack of response, she continued. “I don’t like him, Y/N. I don’t trust him. But I love you. And if you love him… then I guess he can stick around.” 

You could still feel the weight of her arms around your shoulders on the drive home, feel the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks.  _ This could be the last time I see you.  _ The roar of the technical’s engine seemed to disappear into the background, your grip tight on the wheel, the desert flying by in stripes of blue-tinted sand. If you died tomorrow… you could rest easy knowing you’d protected your greatest friend, and gave  _ her  _ a chance at survival. 

And that was enough for tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Sorry for the delay everyone! I've been especially busy recently with heading back to university, and battling a sickening bout of writer's block! Only two more chapters! As always, please leave kudos and comments if you like the story, it really makes my day! Thanks for reading!


	17. The Great Vault

Maybe it  _ was _ wishful thinking. You’d intended to be back by sunset, and arrived well into the night, the roar of the technical’s powerful engine sounding off like an alarm announcing your return. The Cathedral was silent, the construction completed, no more machines and screams to disguise your return. The yard was empty, not even a Green Priest lingering to investigate the disturbance. 

The walk back to Troy’s room was unsettling.  _ Everything _ was empty. No devotees wandering the halls, the whole Cathedral was just… abandoned. There was no softened rock music playing, and Troy’s imposing black door was cold to the touch. 

You knew in an instant that he wouldn’t be waiting for you on the other side of that door. He wouldn’t be sitting in bed, wouldn’t be smoking, or even angry about your disappearance. Like everything else it seemed, he was gone. 

You opened it anyways. Moonlight spilled into the vacant interior, picked and polished clean, no sign of the man who once lived here. His clothes were gone, the bed was neatly made, and your duffle bag was sitting on the desk, tightly zipped. There was an ECHO gently laid on top. You plugged the tape into your device, and waited. There was the soft crackle of audio equipment, and the sound of movement in the background. 

“You were right, okay?” Troy sounded annoyed, his voice seeping through the device in short static bursts. “I’ve tried to believe in her better nature, tried to hold out faith that she had my best interests at heart, but it’s clear that I was wrong.” 

Panic flooded your veins. It didn’t  _ sound _ like he was in danger, or even in pain, but the defeat in voice frightened you. This  _ sounded  _ like a goodbye. 

“I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with this stupid ECHO, you’re never going to hear it anyways,” he sighed, and there was the soft  _ clink _ of his jewelry colliding as he shifted in place, “but who knows? Maybe you’ll find this years from now on the ECHOnet, and laugh about how stupid I was.” 

You continued to search through the bag, looking for any other clue to his location, any clue as to what the hell happened while you were gone. 

“The Vault Thieves and their Siren are on the way to the Cathedral,” he announced, voice tight and tired, “they’ve disabled the turrets,” another soft  _ clink _ , “we’re using the Eridium to charge the Vault Key as quickly as we can but…” footsteps entered the room, and Troy’s voice grew quieter as he murmured something away from the microphone. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he added, back to the recording, “and I don’t know what’s going to happen if we fail.” 

Your fingers grasped around something smooth, pulling out a photo. It was the two of you, from that day at Carnivora. His arm was around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, and grinning at the camera. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes. 

“You’re smart to get away.” His voice sounded weaker now, soaked with exhaustion. “I can’t protect you. I tried, I really did, but I can’t do it.” There was a pause for a moment, like a sobering thought had come over him. “She’s not going to stop when she opens the Great Vault. When she leeches the Destroyer-- we always talked about what was coming after, like it was this fantastic dream years down the line, but it’s here. It’s real. She’s going to bulldoze  _ every  _ planet,  _ every  _ galaxy,  _ every  _ person who opposes her.” He said this hushedly, as if he was afraid of being overheard. “And I don’t think I even  _ could  _ stand in her way. She doesn’t want  _ power,  _ Y/N, she  _ has _ power. She wants  _ chaos,  _ she wants to stand  _ unopposed.”  _ There was genuine fear in his voice, still quietly dictating to the microphone. “And she thinks I’m standing in her way.” 

The message ended abruptly. The tape slid out of the ECHO with a soft click. And you were still standing there with the photo in your hand.  _ He thought that you’d abandoned him.  _ And he thought that he was going to die alone. 

The ground began to shake beneath your feet in a violent tremor. A vibrant purple glow flooded in through the window, overtaking the gentle blue of the moonlight. Elpis was engulfed in a beam of violet, a fluorescent beacon pulsing from the Cathedral. 

You recognized the color with a pit in your stomach.  _ Troy.  _ What the hell was he doing? In that circulating sense of uncertainty and fear, you found purchase.  _ He was still alive. You could still save him.  _

Your footsteps echoed through the empty Cathedral, and only then did you begin to see the carnage the Vault Thieves had left in their wake. Dozens of cultists, devotees, and priests were riddled with bullets, charred and destroyed, and left behind to die. Walls that only weeks ago, psychos were painstakingly erecting were destroyed, piles of rubble. Some of the scrap was still smoldering, you weren’t far behind. The sounds of gunfire were audible now, though further within the compound. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, clambering over obstacles, peeking around doorways and  _ praying  _ that you weren’t too late. The gunfire grew louder, closer, and soon you were beginning to see the red helmets of Atlas soldiers bobbing around cover, aiming down the scopes of their fancy rifles. Rage boiled in your chest.  _ These _ were the  _ noble _ Crimson Raiders? Sending a corporate army to gun down cultists while they robbed and looted their homes?

There wasn’t time. You’d never  _ held  _ a gun before, much less fired one, and scrapping with trained soldiers wasn’t an ideal time to learn. You’d have to hope that the COV would hold their own long enough for you to slip by unnoticed. You ducked around shipment containers, behind highway dividers, inched your way across the battlefield, taking every precaution and keeping your eyes on that violet beam in the sky. As long as it didn’t disappear, you still had a chance. 

You managed to break through the bulk of the battlefield, with a few close calls, slipping through an unmanned door and catching your breath for a moment.  _ Troy. You had to get to Troy.  _ You’d evaded the majority of the Atlas infantry, but the Vault Thieves were still in your path. They had, as the trail of continued carnage proved, gone ahead of their forces. 

You were close now, you were within reach. You could see the looming statuesque forms of Troy and Tyreen up ahead, and the radioactive glow of slag oozing through the pipes. That was  _ a lot  _ of Eridium. Troy had mentioned the recruitment drive in passing, but he spoke of it like it was a waste of time. This was enough to buy a planet, several planets, and Troy was using it to… phaselock the moon? 

You couldn’t get bogged down in the specifics. You hurried along, silently lamenting the fact that you hadn’t thought to change out of Tyreen’s tight-fitting denims, sweat beading on your brow. What were you going to do? Charge in and fight Tyreen yourself? Plead your case to the Vault Thieves? It didn’t matter. You needed to see him again, let him know that you hadn’t abandoned him. Let him know that you still needed him, still loved him. 

You heard the grinding of metal, and  _ finally _ caught your first glance of the Vault Thieves.

A young Siren woman with caramel skin sent a flaming fist through one of the Anointed guardians. Another in a large mechanical suit sent a spray of electricity through a small horde of cultists. A small skag tore one of the devotees to shreds, and a drone bathed the corpses in a spray of toxic acid. They seemed to celebrate this, calling to someone on the other end of an ECHO, and shutting off the last of the pipes pumping Eridium to the facility below. 

You’d never been in this part of the Cathedral. It was always swarming with cultists, and Troy had maintained that you would have no interest in the boring construction and mechanical side of the compound. Maybe he was right-- but it didn’t matter now. 

The Vault Thief in the mechanical suit threw open the metal grate, and looked down through the opening. “It’s them, Lilith, they’re here,” she called into her ECHO motioning for the others to follow. “Troy’s trying to charge the key, but it looks like they’re running out of Eridium.” 

He was  _ so  _ close. Just one small drop, and you’d see his face again. 

The Vault Thieves reloaded their weapons, and you watched from afar, nausea rising quickly in your stomach. They were going to  _ kill _ him. They had no intention of negotiating, or trying to disarm him-- they would be going in with the intention to  _ kill.  _

You watched them disappear down the small chute, and hurried over to catch a glimpse. You watched the Vault Thieves spread out, and strained to hear the exchange. 

“This ends here, Troy!” The bleached-blonde man called out, levelling his weapon. 

Troy lifted one last hunk of Eridium into his hand, absorbing it with a grunt of effort, tattoos glowing a blinding shade of red as Eridian runes swirled around him. “Yeah,” his voice was barely audible, “it does.” 

You stood, barely conscious of anything beyond the fact that he was  _ here,  _ he was  _ alive,  _ and he was in danger. The drop was easily twenty feet, if not more, and just  _ jumping _ it was a surefire way to break your ankles. You glanced around for anything to break your fall, and grimly landed upon the not-so-mangled corpse of one of the cultists. He was long-dead, of course, but the thought still sickened you. It took a great deal of strength to haul him over to the opening, but one look at the fighting below, and you were resolved. 

You fell through the air in a brief moment of weightlessness, holding the corpse tightly beneath your feet as you plunged towards the ground-- closing your eyes as you braced for impact. You could still  _ hear  _ the crunch of bones over the sounds of gunfire, still feel the wet brush of viscera as the body burst, but withstanding a little pain on your end, the plan had worked. 

Standing shakily, you glanced up to watch Troy send out a burst of screaming red projectiles, beautiful crimson wings hovering over his shoulders. The sight took your breath away, and you very nearly forgot why you were there. 

But Troy had no such delusions. Lip curled in a furious sneer, he surveyed the battlefield, his  _ enemies,  _ and  _ you.  _ His expression changed in a moment. Pure shock filtered through his face, and he blinked quickly, trying to correct what was  _ obviously  _ the hallucinations of a dying man. But  _ you  _ remained, looking up at him with a reverence he couldn’t conjure. “Y/N?” 

His exclamation brought Tyreen’s attention too. Her eyes, hardened with psychotic rage, focused on you with a burning hatred-- the perfect confirmation of her greatest conspiracy.  _ “You!” _ Her hand, levelled at the other Siren woman, shifted, sending up a burst of fire as she appeared within reach of you. “I knew it! You backstabbing little  _ slut! _ How much did they pay you?” Her hand clamped down on your arm as you tried to pull away.

Even the Vault Thieves were surprised, ceasing their fire for just a moment as they absorbed what the  _ hell _ had just happened. 

You tried to pull free of Tyreen, but knew that it was of no use. Even without the use of her abilities, you weren’t going to last long in a fight with the God-Queen. So, instead, you lifted your eyes back to Troy, outlined in a violent and angelic image. “I came back for you!” You called up, as loud as you could muster. “So that we can leave _ together!” _

Tyreen scoffed, and scarlet flooded her tattoos, weeping runes of some lost Eridian language pulsing through her as she began to drain you again. “He doesn’t  _ need  _ you. He doesn’t need  _ anyone.  _ He’s a fucking  _ God!” _

For a breathless moment, Troy could see two paths divulge. In a matter of seconds, Tyreen was going to leech you dry. You’d dissolve into fine black sand, and that would be the end of it. The Great Vault would open, and Tyreen would absorb the Destroyer’s power, and finally accomplish their goal. If he saved you, Tyreen would never trust him again. She’d view his insubordination as betrayal, and turn on him just as quickly. This was a point of no return, and the realization made his chest ache. He couldn’t keep you both. Tyreen was his twin, the only comfort to him for most of his life, the best friend he’d ever had. But you could be his future-- a chance at happiness he never would have dreamed of. 

So, the decision was made for him. 

The violet haze in the sky suddenly vanished, replaced by the warm glow of the sunrise. The Eridium was still surging through his veins, a more powerful high than anything the Green Priests could produce. He could feel the power of it rippling just below the surface of his skin. He felt the pull in his stomach as he focused his eyes on his sister, and watched that purple glow envelop her, like a blanket. He could just barely see the outline of her form, confused and struggling in the supernatural grasp. 

With a movement of his hand, he pulled her away from you, and slowly drifted to the ground, red wings sagging behind him as he met her eyes. “I  _ won’t  _ let you kill her,” he spoke, just loudly enough for his sister to hear. 

Tyreen had a sort of manic desperation in her eyes. “Everything we’ve built, everything we’ve  _ done,  _ you’re going to give it up?”

Troy didn’t school the sorrow in his expression. “What’s the alternative, Ty? We swallow up every star, control every planet, what’s  _ left?” _ There was heartbreak in his tone, the choice was easy to make-- but the consequences were hard to swallow. “This was always going to end. We can’t keep running forever.” 

Tyreen had no delusions about  _ her  _ place in this idyllic future of his. “We sacrificed  _ everything _ for this,” she argued back, tears welling up in her eyes, “we were supposed to finish this  _ together!” _

“I  _ won’t _ let you kill everything that I love,” he regarded her one more time, “so, I can’t let you do this.” He lowered his gaze. “Goodbye, Tyreen.” He found that tug in his stomach again, and reached for it, channeling all the hatred and fear and anger he could summon, pushing every ounce of it through that tenuous connection. He could see the purple turn to red at the edge of his vision, watching the gentle writhing turn to violent convulsions. 

In just a moment, it was over. 

The Vault Thieves were frozen in place, watching the gentle wave of ashes float to the ground. Tyreen was… gone. Consumed in a surge of energy, without much of a struggle at all. The cause of so much violence… dismissed with a whimper. 

Troy dismissed the wings numbly. He stood, eyes focused on the fine black sand where his sister had once been. “I’m never going to come back,” he spoke, without lifting his gaze. “If you let me leave-- I’ll be gone for good.” 

There was an exchange of glances between the Vault Thieves. 

“Where are you going to go?” The bleach-blonde asked, hesitation clear in his expression. 

Troy shrugged, apathetic. “Away. You’ll never see me again.” 

You drew closer, eying the mercenaries to ensure that none of them were lining up a shot, before approaching Troy and looking up at his forlorn expression. You didn’t say anything. What could you say? You extended your hand, taking his in your grasp, and stood beside him. 

There was a brief moment of tense silence, before Lilith’s voice came through the ECHO. “If he’s good on his word, it’s a deal worth taking.” 

Her confidence seemed to push the rest of the group into a decision. Troy would have until the end of the next day to leave Pandora, and if he ever returned, would be treated as an enemy. 

He didn’t say a word until you were back inside the Cathedral, back in that little room, still tightly grasping your hand. “Nekrotafeyo?”

You smiled dimly, still sobered by the evening’s events. “I can’t wait to see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! There it is folks! The long awaited climax of Publicity Stunt. Please, let me know what you think! There's one more chapter to serve as an epilogue, but this is definitely one chapter that I've been waiting to write for some time. As always, please leave kudos and comments, they always make my day!


	18. Nekrotafeyo

It was hard and unrewarding work. Most of what material was left over on Nekrotafeyo was blistered and damaged metal, or ancient Eridian stones that were unbelievably difficult to work with. The wildlife was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, but like the animals on Pandora-- it was dangerous to watch too closely. 

You didn’t keep track of the days, working from sunrise to sunset for what must have been months, and today-- you reached the point of no return. You needed to detach the engine from your ship to supply electricity and heat to your little home. In doing so, you’d be destroying your only way home. 

You didn’t hesitate for more than a second, disconnecting the final valve, and hearing the satisfying ‘clunk’ of the chassis coming loose. 

Troy was behind you, brow smudged with grease, looking over your work with an air of pride. “Can you help me lift it?” He asked quietly, stepping to your right, and taking a strong stance as he waited for you to mirror him. 

You both struggled through the dozen or so steps towards the appliance you’d cobbled together to process the power from the engine. Troy, as it turned out, found a new use for his mechanical prowess. The grieving process had taken its toll, but some days were better than others. On days like today, Troy was supernaturally productive, waking before you and gathering breakfast, outlining his plans for the day. Other days he hardly left bed. You supported him through it all-- and granted him all the time he needed, and privacy when he needed it too. 

You stepped away from the engine-block, laying a supportive hand on Troy’s shoulder, and moving to the makeshift kitchen, looking over the remnants of lunch and a small note scrawled in chicken-scratch. 

**_Thanks for dinner-- sorry I had to skedaddle before dessert! If you’re ever in the neighborhood, I’m glad to return the favor!_ **

**_-Typhon_ **

You sighed softly and tucked the note into your pocket. Troy’s father was… really something. Endlessly charismatic and interesting, but a difficult man to absorb in large doses. An occasional dinner was all you and Troy could handle, but it was a welcome distraction from the labors of construction. There was still strain between him and Troy, years of bad blood didn’t evaporate overnight… but he was trying. And you were  _ endlessly  _ proud of him for that. 

Clearing what little mess remained, you heard his success before you saw it. The erratic snorts from the engine and Troy’s welding torch gave way to the quiet purr of that powerful engine going to work. The light above your meager dining room flickered, and then filled the room with a golden light. 

You heard Troy’s exclamation of excitement, and met him halfway through the door. His arms were around you, eyes drawn to the light with exhausted pride. “We have heat for winter,” he murmured softly, pressing his cheek to your temple. 

You led him through the door, checking over each of the smaller fixtures, and making sure the connections were safe and stable before regrouping in the dining room, and looking over your little house. 

Troy’s eyes drifted towards the bedroom door, expression twisting into a self-satisfied expression. “You know, I’m thinking we deserve a reward for our hard work,” he offered sweetly, looking back to you to gauge your reaction. 

Your brow narrowed in suspicion, before your expression softened with sudden clarity. “You’re right,” you assented, slipping your hand into his, “we  _ do _ deserve a break.” 

A trail of soft laughter and healing heartbreak followed the short few steps to the bedroom, and the door slammed behind you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for going on this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it! For the last time, please leave a comment if you enjoyed the story, they make my day! Thank you for reading! <3


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